The Hazards of Hunting
by scarymez101
Summary: After Dean gets injured by an unknown demon, he begins to develop strange side effects. They soon find out Deans life is in danger and that time is running out. Mpreg but NO wincest OR slash of any kind! Rated M for gore in later chapters. Please R and R.
1. Chapter 1

**AN/N: Well, this is my first Supernatural fic. For reasons unknown, I've only_ just_ started watching the show and I don't know why cuz it is _beyond_ awesome! Plus Dean is Superhot ;D**

**Anyways, I've only seen season one so this where the story is set. It's kind of AU due to time lines and stuff, but I think it'll work out, so there'll be general spoilers for season one. Also, this is an MPREG story, so if that kinda stuff grosses you out, read no further, cuz I can't be arsed with people flaming and complaining. Plus there is _NO_ insest OR slash. I personally hate pairing siblings (even if they are fictional) so I don't do it. If that's something you were hoping to find here, turn around and walk away. I don't condem those that do, but I don't and I don't ever plan to.**

**Like I said, I've not seen much of Supernatural, so I'd really appreciate your thoughts and feedback on character personas and stuff- I love to better my writing so please review and tell me how I'm doing =) plus I'll try to make parts of it funny, but I'm usually not brilliant at humor =/ so don't kill me if my jokes are corny**

**Just a few last notes, Sam's dreams will be in _italics_ and any flashbacks are clearly marked, and I rated 'M' just in case- there's going to be gore in later chapters so I'd rather be safe than sorry.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><em>Piercing screams filled the air, making Sam's blood turn to ice.<em>

"_Dean!" He yelled, desperately trying to locate his brother. "Dean! DEAN!" The only reply was more screaming, riddled with pain and fear._

_It was pitch black and he had no idea where he was, so Sam was forced to listen to his brothers tortured cries as they got louder and louder..._

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><p>Sam woke with a start, his heart racing and his breath tearing from his lungs as if he'd been running for miles without stopping. He sat bolt upright and began looking around frantically, snapping his head left and right until he found who he was looking for.<p>

Dean. Lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a heart monitor and IV drip. Sam sighed in relief when he saw his brother's chest rising and falling gently as he breathed peacefully in his sleep.

Sam lifted his right hand to rub his face, but winced as stabbing pains shot through his palm and to the ends of his fingers. He gently flexed his injured hand until the pain had subsided slightly.

_God, I am such an _idiot! Sam thought angrily to himself. _If I hadn't been so careless, Dean wouldn't be in this mess!_ He rubbed his eyes with his uninjured left hand and sighed.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Sam's head shot up and he saw Dean, eyes open and grinning at him. "You're awake!" He said happily.

"Looks like it." Dean tried to sit up, but grunted and slumped back down as pain wracked his body.

"Hey," Sam said gently, getting up from his makeshift bed to sit by Dean, "you should lie still."

"Thanks for the warning," Dean quipped with a grimace. "What happened?"

"...You got injured."

"No shit Sherlock," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. "How long have I been out?"

"About three days."

Dean let out a low whistle. "We got it though... right?"

Sam frowned. "You don't remember?"

Dean thought for a moment. "I remember... getting the victims out of the warehouse, but after that... nothing." Sam sighed shakily and Dean frowned at him. "What happened, Sam?"

_**FLASHBACK**_

"Ever heard of anything like this before?" Sam whispered.

"Nope."

"Well, that's comforting."

They crept silently through the abandoned warehouse, following the sounds of snapping, crunching and the occasional whimper, weapons raised in front of them.

"How do we know this will kill it?" Sam asked, shaking the shotgun he was holding.

"We don't."

"What if it doesn't? What if shooting it just pisses it off?"

"Then we torch the son-of-a-bitch," Dean said simply. "That usually works. Now shut up and follow me." Sam fell in line behind his brother and they continued through the warehouse.

After a few minutes, during which the sounds became louder, they came across a large store room. Toward the back left of the room they could just make out a crude cage, containing possibly a dozen people, each with varying degrees of injury- some lying on the floor and other cowering in the corner. Sam nudged Dean in the back and nodded to the right. What they saw was sickening.

A seven foot demon was hunched over a bloody red mess, which vaguely resembled what was once human body. The monster resembled a Wendigo, but had a pale green hue to its skin. There were long black, lethal looking spikes protruding from its spine. It had what looked like a scythe attached to the end of its right arm and two finger-like claws at the end of its left. It seemed to be cutting through what remained of the limbs and chewing through the bone as if it were nothing but a candy cane, snapping hungrily and relishing every bite.

"You get the survivors," Sam whispered, "and I'll distract the Big Bad."

"No! Sam, wait-!" But Sam had disappeared before Dean could stop him. "Crap," he muttered. He turned his head to the cage and made his way towards it.

As he got closer, his nose was hit with the disgusting stench of rotting flesh. When he reached the cage, he saw that there were fourteen people in there, but only five were fit to escape. The rest were... beyond saving; mere torsos, discarded like trash now that they were void of limbs.

"Don't worry," Dean said softly as he saw the victims recoil at his approach. "I'm here to save you."

He found the door and whacked it open with the butt of his shotgun. He looked around as he heard an ear splitting screech and saw Sam playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with the demon, who had abandoned its meal due to the fact it had a much tastier morsel it its sight. He saw Sam had lost his shotgun.

"Dean, get them out of here!" Sam yelled, not taking his eyes off the demon.

"Be careful!" Dean yelled back, before ushering the surviving victims out of the way of danger.

Sam saw them leave out of the corner of his eye as he bobbed and weaved out of the demons way. It continued to screech, but apart from lunging at him jerkily a few times, the creature didn't seem to want to harm him. Sam slowed down, as did the demon, and he watched as it cocked its head to one side.

_Is it... is that thing _thinking? Sam thought incredulously.

Sam began to back away and the demon followed. It clicked its grotesque jaws together and continued to scrutinise him. Before long, Sam found himself backed up against a wall with no easy means of escape. The demon clicked again and its mouth twisted into what looked like a malicious grin. It raised its scythe and-

"Sam!"

Sam snapped his head to the left and saw Dean running towards them. The demon turned and screeched angrily.

"Dean, look out!" Sam yelled.

But it happened too fast; Dean didn't have time to react and all Sam could do was watch in horror. The creature slashed at his stomach and Sam heard a sickening wet noise as the scythe sliced through flesh. Dean yelled and fell to the floor, dropping his shotgun, which went clattering away across the room. The demon opened its mouth and squealed, a high ptiched keening sound, before spraying Dean with a sticky black fluid. He choked and shuddered, trying to get up, but fell back to the ground as his strength continued to ebb away. Just before he shut his eyes and lost consciousness, Sam saw Dean's eyes flash a vivid lime green colour.

The demon turned to Sam and screeched, racing toward him. But Sam had grabbed his brothers lost shotgun. He aimed and pulled the trigger, covering his face as the demons head exploded in a shower of flesh, blood and bone.

Before the demons body had hit the ground, Sam had already raced to his brother's side. He picked him up and held his head with his left arm, while trying to stem the bleeding with his right. But as soon as his skin touched the black liquid that Dean had been covered in, he felt a searing pain and heard the sizzle of burning flesh. Sam cursed and yelled in pain. He tore a strip off his t-shirt and wrapped his hand in it.

"Come on Dean, hold on."

He picked up his brother and carried him outside, where he lay him on the ground by the side of the Impala. He dug into his pocket for is phone and called 911...

_**END FLASHBACK**_

"... they said you're lucky," Sam said quietly. "You lost a lot of blood." His head was hung low, avoiding his brother's gaze.

Dean frowned. "What about cops? Weren't there any at the scene?"

Sam looked up. "Yeah, but they followed us here."

"What did you tell them?"

Sam snorted a short laugh. "That some freaks were running around with a knife and some battery acid. I said they were wearing masks so I couldn't see their faces."

"You didn't tell them about the warehouse?"

Sam shook his head. "No. After you were stabilised I went back and razed the place to the ground."

Dean nodded in approval, and then frowned slightly. "What about the body? Was it still there?"

"Yeah. Headless, just the way I left it." Dean laughed softly, but then winced as pain shot through his injured abdomen. "At least we know this demon is one of the few that stays dead after being pumped full off buckshot."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Good thing you went back and burned the body though." He shook his head. "You can never be too sure."

"What about the victims? You think they're likely to tell someone?"

"I doubt it. It's kind of sad when you think that they won't get the right support they need after going through something like that, but the moment they tell anyone, they're likely to get committed."

Sam laughed softly and smiled at his older brother, but then frowned and looked away as he felt a lump in his throat and a prickling behind his eyes.

Dean frowned. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head and sighed. "This is my fault."

"What? How?"

"I hesitated. If I'd have been quicker, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Sam, don't beat yourself up about this. You-"

"Oh, you're awake."

Dean turned to see who had cut him off mid-sentence. Standing in the doorway was a young nurse, a small smile on her lips. She had a heart-shaped face, a slender nose, full lips that shone with gloss and smouldering brown eyes. Her cascade of luscious, chocolate brown curls fell past her shoulders and framed her face perfectly.

Dean hitched a grin on to his face. "I guess I am."

She widened her smile, showing a row of pearly white teeth. "I'll go and get Doctor Collins."

"Hurry back," Dean called as she left the room. She grinned at him through his bedroom window before leaving to get the doctor. Dean let out another low whistle. "A man could die happy in a place like this."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not going to die."

"No, but if I was... again, I could die happy this time."

Sam frowned. "And why is that?"

"Dude! Did you not _see_ her? She's smoking hot!"

Sam shook his head, laughing. "I can tell you're on your way to a full recovery."

"Aw, Sammy, you say that like it's a bad thing."

Sam laughed again, wishing he could punch his brother on the arm.

"Mr. Dawkins?"

The two brothers turned their heads to see Doctor Collins and the 'smoking hot' nurse standing in their doorway.

"Yeah," Dean answered.

The doctor smiled and walked in, looking down at a chart. "Nice to see you're awake." He turned to Sam. "Must be a relief."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, big relief."

Dean glanced at Sam with a 'give-me-a-break-and-can-all-the-sappy-crap' look on his face.

The doctor didn't seem to notice and continued. "We did manage to clean out the, um... battery acid, but we had to work fairly vigorously in order to do so. You'll be quite sore for another week at the very least."

"I don't have to stay the whole week do I?" Dean asked quickly.

Sam smirked. He knew his brother too well, and no number of hot nurses was going to be enough to keep Dean cooped up in a hospital for an entire week; he'd end up banging his head against the heart monitor... repeatedly.

The doctor smiled. "No. I think we'll keep you in for a few days longer, just to be on the safe side, but then you'll be free to go." He turned to Sam. "Your bandages can come off now."

"That'd be great," Sam said, feeling a rush of gratitude toward the doctor; they'd been beyond itchy over the past few days. He smiled at the nurse as she made her way over to his side with a tray of scissors and cleaning swabs. The doctor began scribbling something on his clipboard.

As she bent down slightly to cut the bandages off Sam's hand, he saw Dean tilting his head to one side as he surveyed her rear. Dean pursed his lips, showing he liked what he saw. Sam caught his eye and frowned. Dean shrugged and continued to stare.

"You seem to have had an extreme allergic reaction to the acid," the doctor told Sam as the nurse peeled away his dressing, revealing the pink raw flesh underneath.

"Sorry," she said gently as she touched Sam's hand with an alcohol wipe, causing his breath to hiss in pain. Her hands were soft and smooth.

"Don't worry about it," he said smiling at her, which she returned shyly. He turned to the doctor. "How come I got an allergic reaction?" He flexed his fingers gently, working the stiffness out of his digits.

"Your skin seems to have reacted with a chemical compound in the acid," Doctor Collins explained. "Although it does seem to be the lesser of two evils; I doubt your brother would've made it if he'd have reacted the way you did."

Sam nodded understandingly, but Dean frowned. "How come?"

"The acid was found deep inside your wound," the doctor said. "If your body had reacted badly, there wouldn't have been much we could've done. Your body would have gone into anaphylactic shock, causing massive internal swelling and closing off your airways."

Dean looked slightly shocked, although that may have been due to the fact that he nearly died of an allergic reaction, rather than a demon bite of some kind. Who ever heard of a demon that kills you by swelling your airways shut? "Looks like I got lucky."

"Extremely." Doctor Collins smiled. "I'll let you get some rest."

He left the room and the nurse followed with Sam's discarded bandages. Sam saw Dean eyeing the nurse's butt as she walked away.

Sam tutted. "What?" Asked Dean.

"You must be desperate to hit on a woman while you're bedridden."

"I won't be bedridden for long."

"Maybe, but you'll be on no shape to do much with a wound like that on your stomach."

"You know, Sammy," Dean folded his arms gently behind his back, "you can be such a killjoy."

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><p><strong>Please let me know how I've done =)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello! Sorry for the lack of updating, but I've been busy with finishing my final year project for uni and then sorting out what I actually want to do with my life now lol but here is the next chapter ^_^**

**I have taken on board the comment about demons being smoke like and possesing people, but I grew up watching Buffy, Angel and Charmed, so to me, 'demon' is kinda generic- if its evil (corporeal or otherwise) its a demon. I'm sure you'll be able to follow me on that lol and if not I'm sure I'll live.**

**Thank you to all of those who have alerted and favorited =D and to also to those who reviewed. Like I said, I'd love to hear your feedback on how I'm doing.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Two days later, Dean insisted on being checked out of the hospital.<p>

"Thanks for everything," said Sam, shaking the doctors hand.

"My pleasure," smiled doctor Collins in reply. "Now, those stitches will fall out themselves in about a week or so. Your brother will need to take it easy for a while.

Sam laughed. "I'll try and convince him.""

"Are you sure he doesn't want to stay an extra night?"

"I'm pretty sure," Sam said, glancing over at Dean who was making his way toward them slowly. "My brother has always hated being cooped up."

"As long as you're sure."

"I am."

"Ok. He can take the bandages off tomorrow morning and he must take care when washing."

"Thanks again," Sam smiled. He watched the doctor walk away then turned to Dean as he came within earshot. "Weren't you supposed to be in wheelchair? Your stitches could pop."

Dean shot a daggered look at Sam. "Do I look like an invalid to you?"

Sam looked at his brother. He was still a little pale, had dark rings around his eyes and was clutching his stomach, which looked bulky underneath his t-shirt because of his bandages. "Well... kinda."

"You say that again and you can walk to the motel."

"You can't drive."

Dean frowned. "Shut up."

Sam tried to help him by holding his shoulders and supporting some of his weight, but got a stare that, if looks could kill, would have sent him to his grave. So they made their way, slowly, to the car where Dean tried to open the door at the driver's side. Sam stopped him.

"Dean, I'm serious. You can't drive."

"Come on, man," Dean groaned. He walked round to the passenger side and gingerly got in the car.

Sam started the engine and turned on the radio. Some mellow country music came drifting from the speakers. He smiled as he heard Dean huff in complaint. "Like you said," he told Dean, "diver chooses the music; shotgun shuts his cake hole."

"Yeah, well that's when I was driving. Turn this crap off, Sam."

Sam grinned and turned it up for a few seconds, before quickly starting the Metallica tape that was already in. He turned to Dean. "Happy?"

"Much better."

Sam drove to the motel as carefully as he could, ignoring Dean whenever he sighed with irritation due to the car being slowed to below ten miles an hour. The motel wasn't, in fact, too far from the hospital, but the slow car journey made it seem a whole lot longer.

"Finally," Dean muttered as Sam pulled up to their room and shut off the engine. "I thought I'd be old and grey before we got here."

Sam shook his head and got out of the car. He hurried round to the other side of the car to offer his hand to Dean. He quickly retracted it when his brother gave him a look that made him think that he'd rather bite it off.

They made their way into the room, Sam carrying his hospital bag; he'd needed it when he'd found out he was able to stay with Dean past visiting hours. Once inside, Sam threw the bag onto his bed and made a beeline for his laptop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean shuffling to the bathroom.

"Hey, you need to rest."

Dean snorted. "I've been lying in a hospital be for five days, what I _need_ is a shower."

"I'm serious, Dean."

"So am I! I stink, Sammy."

Sam clenched his jaw and ignored the old nickname. "You can't get your bandages wet."

"Give me a break," Dean muttered impatiently.

"Look, doctor Collins said you can take your bandages off tomorrow. You can have a shower then."

"...You're not going to let up are you?"

"Nope."

Dean sighed. "Fine." But instead of moving to his bed, he made for the fridge instead.

"Now what are you doing?"

"I need a drink!"

"I'll get it. You get into bed."

_I'm going to go insane if he doesn't heal soon_, Sam thought as he walked over to Dean and moved him gently to his bed.

"Geez, what are you Sam, my brother or my Goddamn wet nurse?"

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Just lie down." He waited until Dean had positioned himself comfortably before grabbing him a soda from the fridge. "Here," he said, opening the can and handing it to him.

"I said I wanted a drink."

"This is a drink." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him short. "I don't think beer is going to do you much good right now. Plus you can't drink it with the pain meds you're on at the moment anyway."

Dean sighed and reluctantly took a swing. "Thanks," he muttered. He reached for the remote, wincing slightly as a dull pain shot through his middle. "What are you doing?" He asked as Sam moved to his laptop.

"I'm going to find out what that... thing was."

"All I care about, is that it's a dead thing. That's good enough for me."

"Dean, that _thing_ almost killed you!" Sam said, louder than he'd intended. Dean looked a little shocked at his younger brother's outburst. Sam sighed. "And it's my fault."

"Come on, Sam," Dean said gently. "It's not your fault. I told you before not to beat yourself up about it."

"Yeah, but-"

"-but nothing, alright? You're my little brother, man... and I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

Sam smiled slightly. "Even if it means getting sliced and diced in the process?"

"If that's what takes." Dean looked into Sam's eyes and smiled, which Sam returned, before turning back to his laptop. Dean rolled his eyes. "Geeking out on me again," he said, more to himself than Sam. He flicked the TV on and started surfing.

"Shut up and watch Oprah." That comment earned Sam's eardrums a deafening blast from the television; Dean had found a music station that was blaring Metallica, and cranked up the volume.

Joy.

Sam searched for hours, but rather than feeling as though he'd accomplished something, he felt as though he was constantly running into brick walls. He'd checked out the usual websites, along with a few of the more... eccentric and obscure, but still came up empty handed.

He found creatures that ate human bones, but they ate the entire body, instead of just the limbs. He found different creatures with black spines protruding from their backs, but they were all water dwellers. And wherever he seemed to look, there was always a link to the Wendigo, which really pissed him off because that beast was no Wendigo.

Dean had nodded off during Sam's fruitless search, but jerked awake when Sam made his way to the fridge.

"Sorry," Sam said softly, "didn't mean to wake you." He started to reach for a beer, but then grabbed a soda instead.

"'S alright," came the sleepy reply. "How long have I been out?"

"About an hour or two."

Dean stretched carefully and yawned. "You find anything?"

Sam clenched his jaw. "Nope." He opened his can and took a swig. "Great big pile of nothing."

Dean frowned and propped himself up slightly. "Really?" Sam nodded glumly. "Where'd you check?"

"All the usual sites, plus a few _un_usual ones."

Dean scoffed. "Like those losers who ran the Hellhound website?"

"Yeah. But wherever I searched..." He shook his head and sighed. "Nothing. Although I did keep getting linked to the Wendigo."

Dean frowned. "That's not what it was."

"I know. Shooting a Wendigo in the head would've just pissed it off, not killed it." He drained the rest of his drink and threw the empty can in the bin.

Dean watched as he started pacing, running his fingers through his hair. "Sam," Dean said. He stopped pacing. "Whatever it is, it's dead. We haven't heard of any other attacks in this area like mine, right?" Sam nodded stiffly. "So stop killing yourself over this research."

"But what if it did something to you?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, that's the problem!"

"Sam-"

"We don't have a clue what that black stuff was! The doctor said it got pumped deep into your wound!"

"Yeah and he also said they got rid of it," Dean said. He frowned and grimaced slightly. "To be honest, it's something I'd rather forget." He shuddered at the memory.

"What if there are side effects?" Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm serious! Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but what's going to happen to your body in six months time? A year?" Sam dropped onto his bed and held his head in his hands.

"So we keep an eye on me."

Sam looked up. "What?"

Dean shrugged slightly. "We'll see how I heal up and keep an eye open for unusual symptoms."

Sam sighed. It didn't seem like the best plan in the world to him, but since they had zero information on the beast, he didn't have much of a choice. "Ok," he said reluctantly.

"Good," Dean said.

Sam looked at his older brother briefly and toyed with the idea of telling him about his vision. _No,_ he thought. _First I've got to help him heal. Telling him would just stress him out and if it's going to come true, Dean will need to be at his strongest to have a chance of surviving._

Sam stood up. "You hungry?"

"Yeah, hospital food is the pits."

Sam laughed. "Bacon cheeseburger and fries?"

Dean flashed his signature grin. "Sounds like heaven."

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><p>Dean healed well over the week that followed his hospital release. One thing about the Winchesters- they're robust.<p>

Sam insisted that they stay in the same place while he healed and refused to look for any further jobs until Dean could at least stand on his own without wincing. And although they were confined to the same room for nearly twenty four hours a day, with disgusting, flaky wallpaper that could drive someone insane, Dean was secretly enjoying the time off.

Since leaving high school, all Dean had done was hunt. Of course he'd enjoyed most of what he did- meeting interesting people, finding out they were some kind of evil being and torching their sorry asses- it was a strange perk of the job for him. But there was always a part of him that wanted a break; a day off from the weird and dangerous to relax.

However, even that little corner of his mind got bored easily. So, when he finally got behind the steering wheel again, after threatening Sam he'd tie him up and shove him in the trunk if he didn't let him drive, Dean felt ready to hit the road and leave the hell of the past two weeks behind him.

Little did he know that luck would not be on his side and soon, he would be fighting for his life in a way he never thought possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey there! Here is the next installment =P again, sorry for the delay- I really do suck at uploading quickly. But I hope you can all forgive me *lip quivers***

**Also, I've managed to get hold of seasons 2-6 of Supernatural ^_^_^ and I've been watching them non-stop lol so I hope my chracterisation is up to scratch. Note, that this fic is still set during season one.**

**Anyway, hope you like it.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>The next six weeks that passed seemed normal as ever... if you're a Winchester that is. The two brothers drove from state to state, using their knowledge of the supernatural, not to mention knowledge of fooling the legal system, to help those in danger.<p>

The most notable job they took was a creature made of pus, not to mention other disgusting bodily fluids. It had lodged itself into the sewage system of a small town on the outskirts of North Dakota. It fed on human waste and had caused an enormous blockage. It hadn't been particularly dangerous, but quite a number of the town's workers had nearly drowned whilst trying to fix the problem.

The Winchesters dispatched the monster, using the ruse that they were inspectors, come to see what the fuss was about. They emerged victorious, covered in... well, something understandably revolting, which made them swear that it would never be spoken of again. Ever. They cleaned up and were soon on their way, the open road stretching before them.

Sam hadn't forgotten about his vision, but had forced himself to put it to the back of his mind. Concentrating on helping Dean heal had been his top priority, but keeping an eye open for unusual symptoms was a close second.

Dean, on the other hand, was feeling as good as new and took no notice of what may have been considered as 'unusual symptoms'. So when he woke up two months after the slasher demon attack, feeling nauseous, he put it down to something he'd eaten and thought no more about it. Unfortunately, that was the day Sam had found a particularly gruesome case for them to work on.

They were sat in a diner, Sam with his head stuck in a newspaper. "Hey," he said quietly, "I think I've found something."

Dean looked up from his coffee, his stomach churning uncomfortably. "What?"

Sam put the newspaper down and pointed to the picture of a woman under the 'Obituaries' heading. "Mary Palmer. She was in the news a couple of days ago. Said she died of a self inflicted knife wound."

"Where?"

"In her eye."

Dean grimaced as the mental image made his stomach flip. He shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to massage his belly. "Did it say why she did it?"

"No. Looks like she lead a good life. A husband and two sons and, as far as I can tell from the details, no history of depression."

"What makes you think it's our kinda gig?"

"Because the same day Mary Palmer killed herself," Sam produced another newspaper clipping from the pocket of his jacket, "Matthew Payne strangled himself to death."

Dean frowned. "That's impossible."

"I know," Sam agreed. "The moment he passed out, his muscles _should've _relaxed and his hand _should've _fallen away."

"But it didn't."

"Nope. It stayed where it was, clutched around his throat."

Deans eyebrows arched upward in a semi I-do-think-this-is-weird-but-we've-seen-weirder sort of way.

Sam caught his look. "But it carries on." He pulled out two more clippings. "In the two days that followed, Sharon Gray and David Marks offed themselves as well."

"So you think that we're dealing with something that gets inside your head?"

"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "I made an appointment with the coroner to see the bodies." Sam cleared away the articles and downed the last of his coffee. He stood up and looked over at Dean, noticing that he hadn't guzzled his own coffee as usual. He frowned. "You ok? You've barely touched your drink."

"Yeah," Dean said, as his stomach gave a particularly sickening gurgle. He grimaced and placed a hand on his belly in a vain attempt to soothe it.

"You sure? You've looked kinda peaky since you got up this morning."

Dean shook his head dismissively. "I'll be fine." He stood up, leaving his coffee on the table. "But maybe you should drive," he added, throwing the car keys to Sam who caught them.

"Ok," he said, eyeing his brother suspiciously.

"I think you were right about that burrito last night, man," Dean said as they climbed into the Impala.

Sam couldn't help but smirk a little. "I told you, but you wouldn't listen."

"Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and drive will you?"

Sam turned the key and the engine roared into life. He shifted into gear and set off for the hospital. Dean put a hand on his stomach again, but tried to conceal what he was doing underneath his jacket; the lurching of the car was making his already unsettled stomach even queasier, and he didn't want Sam going all 'Mother Goose' on him again. He'd had enough of that when he'd been healing from the attack.

The drive was unpleasant, for Dean anyway, but relatively short. Once Sam had parked up and shut off the engine, he reached across Dean and opened the glove compartment. He took out the box of fake ID's they use to get by and started rifling through them.

"So, who are we today Sammy?" Asked Dean, a hand still on his stomach underneath his jacket. Sam held up two police badges. Dean nodded in approval. "Ah. Officers of the law, here to investigate the strange circumstances in which these people died."

Sam snorted softly. "Yeah, you'd sound a lot more convincing if you didn't have food poisoning."

"Just let the burrito go, man," Dean sighed. His stomach lurched, gurgling loudly, making him cover his mouth defensively.

"It sounds like your body wants to let the burrito go," Sam said. His only reply was an exasperated grunt. "Why don't you let me do the talking?"

Dean paused, then, deeming it safe, took his hand away from his mouth. He drew a shaky breath. "Sounds like a plan."

After the box of fake ID's had been put away, they got out of the car and made their way to the hospital entrance, Sam in the lead. In the reception area, they made for the front desk in order to confirm their appointment.

"Hi," Sam said to the woman behind the desk.

"What can I do for you, my dear?" She asked kindly. She had an oval face that was surrounded by a crop a short, curly blonde hair that was streaked with grey, green, almond shaped eyes that were framed with round spectacles and thin lips that were tilted upward in a warm smile. Her eyes were surrounded by many wrinkled laughter lines.

"I'm officer Daniels, this is officer Woods," Sam told her, showing his fake credentials. Dean did the same. She glanced at them and smiled, satisfied that they were legitimate. They stowed them back in their pockets. "We're here to investigate a string of unusual deaths."

"Oh, you had an appointment didn't you?"

"Yes we did ma'am."

"Just a moment," she said, before turning to a computer screen. After a few clicks, she frowned. "I'm afraid the coroner has decided to take an early lunch," she said apologetically, "but I'm sure Doctor Purser would be happy to help."

"That would be great."

"Follow me. I'll show you to his office." She hopped off her chair and made her way from behind the desk. She didn't even reach Sam's shoulder. She walked ahead of them and strode up the corridor. They followed.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked as they walked behind the receptionist, taking a left down a new corridor.

"Mm-hm," came the reply, which was all Dean could manage in order to prevent himself from throwing up. Sam frowned, but said nothing more and for that, Dean was thankful. He just wanted to get this over and done with so they could get back to the motel where he could sleep off the food poisoning. They followed the kind woman down a right turn to an office. The plaque on the door read 'Dr. D. Purser'.

"Doctor Purser?" She asked, tapping her knuckles softly on the door.

They heard the clink of glass on wood, the rustling of papers then the sound of footsteps. The door opened to reveal a young man, not much older than Dean. He had short brown hair, a rather prominent brow, but his soft blue eyes and delicate looking nose and mouth seemed somewhat out of place, giving a boyish hue to his appearance.

_Pretty boy,_ snorted Dean, mentally.

"Yes?" Oh, hello Sophia, he said, nodding and smiling at the receptionist. "What can I do for you?"

"These two officers came to see Matt, but he's decided to take an early lunch," she told him, a note of frustration in her voice. "I told them you could help them."

"Certainly." The doctor smiled and stepped quickly out of his office, locking his door behind him. "It's lucky he gave me the reports he complied yesterday," he said, turning around and shaking his head. "Matt, our coroner, has a nasty habit of shirking his duties when he's needed most."

Sophia sighed. "I've lost count how many times he's been warned."

Sam frowned and shook his head. "Not very professional, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Not at all. In fact, I shall be having words with him myself. Thank you, Sophia." She smiled and made her way back to the reception. The doctor turned his attention to Sam and Dean. "Now, if you'll follow me gentlemen, I'll gladly show you what you came here to see."

"Thanks," Sam said, as they set off down the corridor, heading further away from the reception.

Further away from fresh air, which was all Dean wanted at that moment in time.

Sam sidled up to the doctor and started asking questions, but Dean wasn't paying attention. The lights overhead were so bright, they gave him a headache. Adding that to his nausea made him feel even worse. He had to stare at he floor and take deep breaths, forcing down the bile that continuously threatened to violently expel itself from his stomach and redecorate the walls.

_What the hell is going on?_ Dean thought, somewhat angry with himself. _I've had hangovers worse than this and done a hell of a lot more when I had them!_ He felt a little ashamed that something as mundane as food poisoning was having such an adverse effect on him.

"Here we are." Dean looked up at the sound of the doctors voice, his train of thought gone. He pushed open the door and beckoned the brothers forward. They entered and the door swung shut behind them. "This way." Sam followed straight away, walking into a back room. Dean sighed and massaged stomach briefly, steeling himself, before following as well.

The room they had entered was fairly large but almost bare, except for four tables in the centre of the room, which were carrying the bodies of the individuals that had been in the news. They were covered with white sheets.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the disgusting smell, but having smelt worse, it didn't phase him too much. Dean, on the other hand, had to suppress a gag. The smell was putrid and he felt it hung in the air, thick and cloying. He raised a hand to his mouth and nose, grunting in disgust. Sam turned and frowned at Dean.

The doctor noticed Deans reaction. "It happens to the best of us," he said with a wry smile, that Sam didn't seem to catch. "We'll do this quickly." He tilted his head at Dean, who nodded his thanks, although he couldn't help feeling there was something off with this guy.

"Who was the first victim?"

"Mary Palmer," answered the doctor, "but you shouldn't think off them as victims. They killed themselves." Dean thought he sounded a little condescending.

Sam nodded, features slightly strained.

_Yeah right,_ thought Dean. _Suicide, my ass._

Purser moved to a table and grabbed the ends of its white sheet. "She stabbed herself in the eye with a kitchen knife. It must've been pretty sharp. It went straight through her eye and punctured her brain. It caused internal bleeding, putting pressure on her brain. Took her maybe half an hour to die."

He pulled the white sheet back, revealing the head and shoulders of the woman beneath. Her skin was a pale grey-blue, her lips just a shade darker. Where her right eye should've been, there was diagonal, linear gash about two inches long and about half an inch thick. Coagulated blood caked the inside of the fatal wound, which still seemed to glisten slightly in the light of the bright lamps.

This proved to be too much for Dean. One hand shot to his stomach and the one covering his mouth tightened. He ran from the room, through the coroners office and into the hallway. Luckily, there was a bin by the door, which he promptly vomited into.

"My God!" Sam had come bursting after him. "Dean!"

Dean retched again, but brought up nothing. He heaved a few more time then, when the convulsions had stopped, spat into the bin and slumped against the wall. His breathing was ragged and shallow. "That was… a _really_ bad burrito."

"Screw the burrito Dean! I've-" Sam stopped and lowered his voice. "I've never seen you throw up after looking at a dead body before… Are you ok, man?"

"I'm fine," Dean lied. His forehead was sweaty and his face a shade paler than usual.

"I mean, we've seen a hell of a lot worse, Dean."

"There's a first time for everything, Sammy," he said with a thin smile.

"I'll go and get you some water."

"No," muttered Dean, stopping Sam in his tracks. "You should get back into Purser. I'll be fine."

Sam frowned. "You sure? I saw a water cooler just down the corridor."

"I'm sure. One of us has to examine the bodies and I'm sure as hell not up to the job."

"Ok, I'll finish up as soon as I can."

"Yeah."

Sam gave him a small smile and clasped him gently on the shoulder before returning to the examination room. As soon as he was gone, Dean bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

_God!_ He thought, doubling over and cradling his stomach. Shooting pains erupted throughout his abdomen as if he were being stabbed with hundreds of needles. _Never had food poisoning this bad before. Hurts like a _bitch!

He turned, looking for a place to sit and found a row of plastic chairs on the opposite side of the corridor, off to his right. He straightened up and winced as the cramps set in again, but walked to the seats and sat down. He slumped forward and concentrated on his breathing.

_At least I don't feel the need to puke anymore, _he thought as the pain slowly faded to a dull ache that was bearable enough so he could lean back.

He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head on the wall as he waited for Sam to finish examining the bodies.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean heard muffled voices. He opened his eyes and saw Sam and the doctor emerge from the office. Sam walked over to him while Purser peered into the bin. His small nose wrinkled slightly in disgust.

Dean grimaced. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it," he chuckled. "It's not the first time and it definitely won't be the last, I can assure you."

Sam sat down next to him. "How you feeling?"

Dean felt his face burn. "Embarrassed," he muttered.

"Don't be," Purser said. "I've had my share of accidents in the past."

"Could I take a look at the medical files of the deceased?" Sam asked, taking his eyes off his dishevelled brother to look at the doctor.

"Sure. If you just wait in the reception area, I'll get you some copies to take back to the station."

"Wouldn't it be quicker to grab them from your office?"

Dean looked up at Purser just in time to see what looked like a flicker of fear flare in his eyes, but when he spoke, he sounded calm. "I don't have them in my office personally," he said smiling, "but if you wait in reception, I'll have them to you in no time."

"Ok," Sam said, standing and taking the doctors hand. "Thanks Doctor Purser."

"Please," said Purser with a smile, grasping Sam's hand and shaking it firmly, "call me Doug."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Doug."

"It shouldn't take too long. Can you find your way back?"

"Yeah, thanks." They watched Doug walk briskly down the corridor and turn a corner. Dean frowned.

Sam noticed. "What's up? Feeling sick again?"

"No, thank God," he muttered. "Did he seem… I don't know, off to you?"

It was Sam's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," said Dean, shaking his head. "There was just something about him I couldn't put my finger on… and I didn't like it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're being paranoid, Dean. He seemed fine to me." Dean grunted and then winced as a hand was pressed to his abdomen again. "How are you feeling? And don't give me any of this 'I'm fine' crap," he added.

Dean sighed. "You want the truth?"

"Yes."

"I feel like crap. My stomach is cramping like there's no tomorrow and I doubt the lack of nausea will last forever. I just want to get back to the motel and sleep this off."

"Well, you go and wait in the car. I'll wait for Purser, grab the files and we can go."

"Sounds good to me. Hand me the keys?"

Sam dug into his pockets. "Here." He handed Dean the keys. "Can you get up alright?"

"Sam, don't start babying me again. I had enough of that two months ago."

"Fine… Jerk."

Dean managed a small smile. "Bitch."

They walked down the corridor, following the same route they'd taken before. As they passed Purser's office, Dean thought he glimpsed a deep red light coming from underneath his door. But when he tried to get a better look, the light had gone. Sam, who had carried on walking without breaking his large stride, didn't seem to notice. Dean shook his head. Maybe he was being a little paranoid. But then again, this line of work hasn't ever given any of the Winchesters reason to trust anyone but family.

When they reached the reception area, Sam stood by the desk, talking to Sophia, while Dean made his way to the car. As he unlocked it and climbed in the passenger side, a small wave of nausea hit him, making him groan.

"Not again," he moaned, throwing his head back in aggravation. Although he knew his respite couldn't have lasted long, it didn't mean he wasn't still pissed off.

_I haven't got anything to throw up! How the _hell_ can I be feeling sick?_

Just then, Sam climbed into the car with a box of papers. He set the box down on the seat next to him then started patting his pockets before he realised. "Keys?" He asked Dean, holding out his hand. He handed them over without a word. Sam frowned worriedly. "You feeling sick again?" Dean nodded. "I'll spare you the grisly details of the victims deaths until later then."

"'preciate it," mumbled Dean.

Sam turned on the engine and shifted the car into gear. He set off for the motel, driving slowly for the sake of Dean's stomach. And although he complained, Dean was grateful; he loved his car too much to pebble dash the interior.

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><p><strong>AN: Just another reminder, I know that in Supernatural Demons are seen as smoke that possess people, but I grew up watching Buffy, Angel and Charmed. So, to me, 'Demon' is kinda generic. If that bugs you, I apologise, but its sort of ingrained lol. I'm sure you'll all know what I mean =P**

**I'd also like to say that I try and make some of the dialogue seem funny, but humour doesn't come as naturally to me as other forms of writing.**

**And if you think that my chracterisations are good/bad I'd love to know what you think. Constructive criticism is the nectar of the writing Gods!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know, I suck at updating, but all of you who have alerted, I _will_ finish this story- I promise! *holds up right hand and swears on the bible, regardless of religious beliefs***

**Anyway, I hope I have done this chapter justice- its my first attempt at an original creature/demon/monster type thing, and I'd love your thoughts on how I've done.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>When they got back to the motel, Dean fell asleep almost instantly. He kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket and curled up on his bed, placing a hand on his stomach to try and settle it. Sam brought him the bowl from the sink and a glass of water. He murmured his thanks before drifting off into a dreamless sleep.<p>

When he woke, a few hours later, he found that his stomach had almost settled back to normal. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Hey, you feeling any better?"

Dean looked over to the dining are where Sam was sat at the table, which was covered with paper work.

"Yeah," he replied. He stood up and made his way to the fridge.

After rifling through what little there was, Dean settled on the rest of the third cheese burger he'd had yesterday at lunch. He kicked the door shut and sat down across from Sam, who looked up and wrinkled his nose.

"Are you sure you should be eating something like that?" He asked, as Dean sunk his teeth into the cold burger.

He chewed and swallowed before responding. "Dude, I'm starving, and it was either this or the last bit of burrito that made me hurl in the first place. What did you find out?"

Sam shook his head as Dean continued to eat his leftovers, then turned to look at the stacks of papers around him. "Well, the wounds the victims died from were all self inflicted. Mary Palmer, as you saw, stabbed herself in the eye."

Dean shuddered. "Yeah, don't remind me."

"The second victim, Matthew Payne, strangled himself. He had a huge bruise on his neck and dark circles underneath his eyes, which were so bloodshot I'm surprised the blood vessels didn't burst. Sharon Gray stabbed herself in the stomach, repeatedly, with a letter opener."

"A letter opener?" Dean asked thickly through his last mouthful of food. He pushed his plate onto the table and brushed his hands free of crumbs.

"Yeah. Apparently she did it while she was at work. At least four of her co-workers fainted when they saw her blood run black."

"So, she hit her liver?"

Sam nodded grimly. "She died in less than a minute."

Dean let out a low whistle. "What a way to go."

"It gets worse."

Dean felt his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. Thinking it was the burger disagreeing with him slightly, he ignored it, not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction of saying 'I told you so'.

"The final victim, David Marks, rammed a garden stake into his own ear."

"What?"

"He was planting tomatoes in his green house, when he picked up one of the thin stakes and shoved it through his ear, into his brain."

"Oh God," muttered Dean. He put a hand on his stomach as the mental image caused its contents to start churning.

"I know," Sam said, looking at the file in front of him. "He just lay there for hours before anyone found him."

"God." The churning got worse.

"Twitching."

"Shit!" Dean bolted from the table and shot into the bathroom, one hand at his mouth, the other on his stomach. He barely heard Sam calling his name as he slammed the door shut behind him. He turned and placed his head over the toilet, just as the partially digested remains of his leftovers were projected forcefully from his stomach. He heaved and retched until his stomach was empty.

There was a knock at the door. "Dean? Can I come in?"

Dean wiped his mouth and put the toilet lid down. "Yeah." He flushed and leaned against the sink.

The door opened and Sam entered, concern written all over his face. "You ok?"

"Never better," Dean muttered dismissively.

"I'm not joking, man," Sam said softly. "I think there's something wrong."

Dean pushed Sam's worries away with a wave of his hand. "I told you Sam, its just because of the burrito I ate last night." He stood up and turned to rinse his mouth out in the sink.

Sam frowned. "You sure?"

"Yes." Dean turned around. "Now what are we dealing with?"

Sam looked at Dean and sighed at the change in conversation, and turned to head back to the kitchen table. He shook his head. He knew it was pointless arguing with Dean when his expression said 'drop it, or I'll drop you'.

"At first I wasn't sure how all the victims were connected," Sam said once they were both sat down. "But then Purser told me they were all former patients of his."

"So?"

"Their operations were extremely complex." He handed Dean a slip of paper; he'd compiled a brief, neat set of notes. "Mary Palmer was blind in one eye."

"The eye that was stabbed?"

"Yeah."

"Why stab your blind eye?"

"When she stabbed herself, she wasn't blind." Dean frowned. "Purser restored her sight."

"What? How?"

Sam shrugged. "He wouldn't tell me, but said that she'd sustained major trauma to the optic nerve and that the operation was a huge risk."

Dean's frown deepened. "Why perform it then?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. He said he believes in helping his patients."

"What about the others?"

"Same kind of deal. Matthew Payne, the gut who strangled himself, had had major surgery on his throat. If it'd gone wrong, he would've lost his larynx, which would've meant he'd need to be on a respirator 24/7."

"That's not usually the attitude of a good surgeon," Dean said. "Taking small risks in order to help your patients is one thing, but deliberately putting their lives in danger?" He shook his head incuriously.

Sam continued. "Sharon Gray needed a liver transplant, but her body started rejecting it."

"Well, how come she lived long enough to stab it instead?"

"Purser operated. Again, he wouldn't tell me what he did, gave me some crap about how I wouldn't understand because I wasn't w surgeon, but he just said it was a risk he was willing to take in order to save her life. And David Marks, stake-to-the-brain guy, was completely deaf in one ear. Been that way since birth."

"How the hell could Purser cure a birth defect?"

"Apparently he's go the 'magic touch'." He air quoted in exaggeration. "I was told by some of the nurses at reception while I was waiting for him to get the papers."

"So this miracle surgeon… I'm guessing he hasn't always been this good with a scalpel?"

"You'd be guessing correctly," Sam said. "He appeared at the hospital about six months ago and, after a bit of digging, I found that every single one of his patients has committed suicide. Some weren't as prolific as others, so they didn't make the papers."

Dean thought for a moment. "Do you think he's got some kind of psychic ability? Controls peoples minds?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. I had a look at that, but didn't find much. So I got thinking of ways humans contact demons, or other supernatural nasties, and I think I found one that fit's the bill. It has the ability to enable humans to increase any skill or trait they want."

"Like medical skills?"

"In this case, looks like it. Its mainly referred to as 'Malum Umbra', which means 'Evil Shadow'."

"So how does it work its mojo?"

"Like I said, it increased Pursers ability so he's able to perform amazing medical feats."

Dean frowned. "But surely that wouldn't make it a demon if its helping people… right?"

"Well, a couple of months after the operation has been performed, the demon posses the patient and forces them to attack the part of their body that was operated on."

Deans stomach gave a half-hearted flip at the thought of Mary Palmers shredded eye. "So this demon gets its jollies by making people kill themselves." He shook his head. "How do we kill it?"

Sam checked his laptop. "This thing needs a dark alter to be summoned and a blood sacrifice in order to be made corporeal."

"So Purser was fully aware of what he was getting into," Dean muttered darkly. _Humans being used by demons,_ Dean thought, _I can handle. But humans using _them? _That is beyond sick!_

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice laced with disgust.

"How do we kill this evil son-of-a-bitch?"

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "We can't."

"What? Why not?"

"All we can do is send it back to what ever corner of Hell it crawled out of."

"Yeah," Dean snorted angrily, "until the next whack-job comes along and decides to summon it again."

"It's the best we've got Dean. At least we know Purser won't be involved in anymore deaths… unless his non-demon-assisted surgical skills really are bad, then it'll all be on his shoulders."

Dean sighed. He really didn't like not being able kill this thing, but there was no other choice. "Well, if that's all we've got, then it'll have to do. So, when do we send its evil ass back to Hell?"

"We need to find out where the alter is first."

Dean thought back to earlier that day. He clicked his fingers. "Pursers office. When we passed it on our way back to reception, I swore I saw a red light under his door. I'd bet my money on the alter being in his office. I _knew_ something was off about him!"

Sam nodded. "Ok. So, we go to his office, trash the alter and piss this thing off. When it shows itself, we say this incantation and we should be good." Sam held up a piece of paper and handed it to Dean.

Dean nodded in approval after he'd read it. "Kinda like a mini exorcism… We doing this tonight?"

"I could do this one on my own," Sam suggested, "if you're not feeling up to it."

"Shut up, Sam. You're not going on your own."

Sam sighed. "Worth a shot," he muttered himself.

Dean ignored him. "Lets get going. Wait, what time is it?"

Sam glanced at his wrist. "A little after six. You think we should leave it until later?"

Dean thought a moment. "Yeah. Don't want to risk setting this thing loose during visiting hours."

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><p><strong>Let me know what you guys think ^_^<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Yeah I know I suck for not updating sooner, but like I said, this story _will_ be finished. I just like writing the whole story out before I start typing it.**

**Anyway, without further delay here's the next chapter**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>They waited for night to fall, although Dean was wishing they'd gone sooner- his nausea had returned. When the sky outside had darkened, they left their motel room, climbed into the Impala, and headed for the hospital. They drove in silence, their thoughts consumed by Purser and his twisted mind.<p>

The parking lot of the hospital was considerably emptier than it had been during the day which boded well for the brothers cover; less people around meant a lower chance of fatalities, not to mention a smaller chance of the cops being called.

"You think he's still in there?" Sam asked as Dean shut off the engine.

He shrugged. "Only one way to find out." He clambered out of the car, Sam following suit, and made for the entrance.

The reception area was deserted, so they walked ahead to the doctor's office with ease. Once they reached Purser's door, they withdrew their guns and held them ready. Sam reached for the door handle and turned, expecting it to be locked. But instead, he was met with no resistance, and the door swung open. They entered silently. Dean flipped on the light switched and a soft glow filled the room.

The office was fairly large and highly organised. The thought 'OCD' flashed across Dean's mind as he looked around. There was a large decorative rug covering the majority of the floor, and the handsome mahogany desk that occupied nearly half of the room was neatly arranged, not a pen or piece of paper out of place. The large bookshelves adorning the walls were also pristine, each medical journal and surgical volume placed perfectly on its shelf. It looked like the office of any surgeon who took pride in his work, both at the operating table and away from it… Well, it _would_ have looked that way, if there hadn't been a small, black table, stashed away in the back, right hand corner of the room.

The alter was covered in a black, glossy cloth that was embroidered with a strange symbol. It resembled a faint silvery shadow rising from blood red flames. There were two black candles, burned down to stubs, and a cracked silver bowl, full of various bones, organ pieces and congealed bodily fluids.

Dean looked away as soon as he saw the contents of the bowl- he couldn't afford to throw up now!

"Now what?" Dean asked, keeping his breathing under control as much as he could.

Sam shrugged. "We could tip the table. I'm sure that'd piss the damn thing off."

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

Sam and Dean spun round and saw Purser standing in the doorway, eyes wide and full of fury. Dean's eyes caught a glimpse of something glinting in the doctor's right hand- an ornamental, but lethal, looking dagger.

"Working late, Doug?" Dean asked. Both his gun and Sam's were trained on the doctor, fingers on the trigger, ready to shoot. "Need some more help from your demon friend?"

Worry flashed briefly across his face, before being replaced by fury once more. "Who the hell are you?"

"We're the ones who're gonna stop you."

"Stop me? I'm saving people's lives!" His eyes began to shine, gleam madly in the light of the office; he was deluded. "How many people can say they stopped a woman's body from rejecting her transplanted liver? Or cure a mans birth defect? I'm saving people's lives!"

"Only for them to commit suicide a few months down the line!" Sam spat angrily.

The corners of the doctor's mouth began to twitch. "I'm a good doctor… I'm a good… I'm a good doctor!"

"If you're so good, why'd you need the help of a demon?" Dean asked, disgustedly.

Before the doctor had a chance to answer, there was a muffled yell from somewhere in the office. Purser's eyes lit up. "It's time!" He looked up at the Winchesters with a mad glint in his eyes. "You're in luck! You get to see my sacrifice!"

"What?" Dean roared at the same time as Sam.

"I thought I was going to be the only one to enjoy it," Purser said, his voice alive with gleeful insanity. He moved to the corner of the rug and roughly shoved it aside revealing a trap door with an electronic password.

The two hunters didn't lower their guns, but neither did they shoot. Purser had a hostage. That complicated matters. Without Purser to open the door, they had little hope of rescuing the victim after they shot the deranged doctor.

After a few seconds of button pressing and murmuring to himself, Purser opened the door and dragged a dishevelled looking man up into the office. He kicked the door shut and roughly replaced the rug.

The thin man was tightly bound and gagged. He had short brown hair that stuck up at all angles and was matted with dirt and blood. He had a deep cut to his left eyebrow and his right eye was swollen shut. His lips were also puffy due to being beaten, purple and red and caked in dried blood. He was wearing tattered jeans and a ripped shirt, underneath a lab coat which once should've been white, but was now smudged with dirt and blood. His name tag labelled him as 'Matt Brooks- Coroner'.

"Matt here," the doctor said maniacally, shaking the poor man roughly, "was getting too nosy for his own good."

Matt whimpered into his gag and peered at Sam and Dean pleadingly through his good eye.

Purser shook him again. "Shut up!" He brandished the dagger and pressed it to the soft flesh of Matt's throat. The coroner gave a muffled gasp then fell silent. He had obviously been at the business end of that dagger previously, and wasn't keen on repeating the experience. The doctor pressed the point of the dagger into the flesh of Matt's neck, drawing a few droplets of blood. It's as if he was asserting whatever dominance he obviously thought he had.

"Let him go," Dean said quietly, his voice a low growl. Any sane person would've let Matt go, but Purser was a lost cause and ignored him.

"It's too late for that!" Purser cried.

The doctor took his eyes away from Sam and Dean to look at Matt's neck, choosing the best place to properly begin slicing. Before he could, Dean squeezed the trigger on his gun, shooting the doctor. The bullet hit his right arm, the one holding the dagger, and punched deep into the flesh of his forearm. Blood spurted out of his wound, staining his white coat and splattering the floor.

Purser yelled in pain and surprise, releasing the dagger from his grip, and also loosening his grip on Matt. The bound man tried to wriggle away, but Purser pushed him to the ground. Without his arms to break his fall, Matt fell heavily and his head collided with the floor with a sickening bang.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. "Check Matt!" As Sam moved to the man on the floor, Dean moved closer to the doctor, who was whimpering on the floor.

"He's alive," Sam said, checking the pulse of the unconscious man on the floor. He stood up and pointed his gun at Purser once more. "What're we gonna do now?"

"Tip the table, Sam."

Sam backed up and dropped a hand away from his gun as he reached for the alter. As he put his hand underneath the table to toss it sideways, Purser let loose an inhuman shriek and lunged for Sam.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. With his system shot full of adrenaline, his nausea had subsided, allowing him to tackle the doctor and protect his little brother. He grunted as he crashed into the doctor and knocked him flying into a bookshelf. Books were scattered everywhere, hitting both Dean and the insane doctor Purser as they fell.

Sam didn't hesitate in taking advantage of Purser being incapacitated, and wrenched the small table upwards, sending it crashing to the left. The bloody entrails went skidding across the floor, slopping as they went.

"NO!" Purser yelled furiously from his position on the floor, trapped underneath Dean and numerous medical volumes.

The office was filled with a strong, swirling gust of icy wind and the sounds of a keening wail. It came from everywhere at once. Over the remains of the alter, a silvery black shadow emerged and consumed the entire back wall of the office.

Sam reached into his pocket and fished out the piece of paper with the incantation. Purser began to whine and struggle against Dean, who promptly elbowed him sharply in the face, snapping his head back and knocking him out cold.

Sam began the incantation. The wind and wailing increased.

"_Misi tibi retro ad infernum. To PURTO putrescent et ubi habitas mala!_"

There was a blinding flash and the demon emitted an ear splitting screech, before being sent back to Hell in a blast of dark red light.

Sam sighed gratefully then walked over to Dean, who was still sprawled on top of Purser, and helped him up. "You ok?"

"Yeah." He stared down at the unconscious form of the doctor and managed to resist the urge to kick him in the head, but only just. "Nice work."

"Thanks." Sam looked from Matt to Purser. "What do we do with these two?"

"Call an ambulance for Matt, and the cops for this lunatic. Tie him up first though."

"What do we say?"

"That we think he's connected to his patients 'suicides', and for the attempted murder of Matt." He groaned as his stomach did a back flip. The nausea was returning now that his 'fight-or-flight' adrenaline response was dulling. He lifted a hand to massage his belly. "Could you take care of it? I'm going to step outside for some air."

Sam frowned. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Sam nodded. "I'll think of something."

"Hurry it up."

"Sure."

Dean entered the hallway and checked to make sure no-one had heard what had just transpired in Purser's office. Once he'd assessed that the coast was clear, he made his way through the hospital and exited for some much needed fresh air.

He made his way toward the Impala, taking slow, steady breaths. Once he reached the car, he was hit with another wave of nausea that was accompanied by a nasty dizzy spell.

"Whoa," he muttered softly, leaning on the hood to steady himself. "That was some _bad_ burrito."

It took a few minutes for the dizziness to subside and the nausea to become somewhat bearable enough for Dean to manage to climb in the passenger side of the car.

Five minutes passed and two police cars turned up, followed closely by an ambulance. There was still no sign of Sam. The officers ran inside, guns at the ready, to secure Purser while the paramedics prepped a gurney and medical supplies. They followed shortly afterwards. All Dean could do was wait.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sam emerged from the hospital unscathed. Dean felt himself breathe a sigh of relief.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked when Sam climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.

"I decided to stay and tell them I was a P.I doing some follow up work on the recent deaths," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I told them that I'd come to ask Purser a few questions and gather a few more files, when I walked in on him about to slash Matt's throat. So I shot him in the arm and subdued him."

Dean nodded in approval, but stopped when he felt himself getting dizzy again. He sighed. "Does this mean we can go back to the motel and sleep?"

Sam laughed softly. "Yeah, sure."

As they were pulling away, Dean caught a glimpse of Matt being bundled into the ambulance. He felt sorry for the poor guy, being beaten and held hostage by a nutcase, but felt relieved when he saw his hands moving. At least he seemed to be ok. Then two police officers caught his eye. Between them, was a dazed and bloodied, but still very much alive, doctor Doug Purser. Dean felt rage boil and seethe inside his chest.

_Whatever they've got in store, is going to be too good for him,_ Dean thought angrily as Sam turned out of the parking lot and Purser vanished from view. _Sick bastard._

As the car hit a pot hole, Dean suppressed a groan as yet another wave of nausea hit him. He inched down in his seat, so could rest his head, and placed a hand on his stomach.

_God, I hope this is cleared up by tomorrow. Can't exactly afford sick days if Hunting's your day job._

What Dean didn't know, was that this was just the beginning of something far, far worse.

* * *

><p><strong>The incantation is probably as in accurate as the original thought that the world was flat lol. I used Google Translate and this is what I typed:<strong>

**_I send you back,  
><em>****_Back to Hell.  
><em>****_To rot and fester,  
><em>****_Where the evil things dwell._**

**And the incantation is what came out lol**

**Anyway, let me know what you guys think ^_^**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey there peoples , I'm back with the newest installment! Just a little heads up, I've started uni again, so I might not be writing anything new for a while, _but_ *drum roll* I have finished writing out this story *cue cheers* so I will be able to update more frequently ^_^**

**Again, just a reminder, any large-ish pieces of text in italics are dreams- any other italics are the thoughts of the chracters... I'm sure you'll get which is which.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>As the next few weeks passed, Dean continued to throw up sporadically and Sam became increasingly worried.<p>

"At least go and see a doctor," he pleaded, during the third week of waking up to the sound of Dean retching.

"And be told that I've got a virus and that I need plenty of bed rest?" Dean shook his head. "Not when we're just about to start another case."

"The job can wait, Dean."

"Sam I'm fine! Just… drop it, ok?"

Sam stared at his brother and sighed. Knowing how stubborn Dean was, he could see that his attempts to get him to a doctor, with co-operation, wouldn't work. "Fine," he said, somewhat sulkily, while thinking that he'd drag him to a doctor himself, kicking and screaming if needs be, if his condition didn't clear up soon.

* * *

><p>About a month after dealing with Purser, Sam dreamt of Dean again. They'd set themselves up in yet another cheap motel in the middle of nowhere for the night, but as soon as Sam closed his eyes, all he saw was Dean…<p>

_Piercing screams filled the air, screams that Sam had heard before. They belonged to Dean and were just as terrifying as they were the first time he heard them._

_"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Where are you?" As he turned his head, he saw his brothers face. Although the light was poor, Sam could see Dean was terrified. "Dean!"_

_The only reply was a pain drenched scream, followed by desperate whimpering._

_"Dean, hold on!"_

_"Please… Sammy, please! Make it… make it stop…" His voice was strained and quiet… Dean was begging._

_Dean never begged. Never._

_"Please… it hurts so much… make it stop!"_

_"Dean!" __Screams erupted from all around him and Sam felt so useless. __"Dean! DEAN!"_

Sam woke with a start, panting and drenched with sweat. When he turned and saw Dean sleeping in the bed next to his, he sighed with relief. Dean was ok, but… for how long?

Throwing off the covers, he swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He grabbed his phone and padded to the bathroom; he didn't want to risk waking Dean. After closing the door and turning the light on, Sam dialled his dads number. Even though the chances of him actually getting through to John were less than favourable, he didn't know who else to ask.

Sam heard the familiar message left by his father and took a deep breath. "Hey dad, its Sam," he said when he heard the beep. "Um, we've got a problem and I… we really need your help. Dean got attacked by a- I don't really know what it was- some kind of monster a few months ago and he got hurt pretty bad. He's healed up, but… but now he's sick and, um…" Sam paused and took another deep breath. "I've been having these dreams where Dean's yelling, he's- he's in so much pain and… I can't do anything to help him. And I've got this really bad feeling it's gonna come true… I can't let that happen, but I don't know what to do. We need your help… please."

Sam hung up the phone and sighed, leaning on the wash basin, resting his head on the mirror. He splashed some cold water on his face before leaving the bathroom to return to bed. But after a few minutes of tossing and turning, he decided to try and find the creature from the attack, again, while he waited for his dad to get back to him.

Of course, his search proved to be a unfruitful as the last time- getting redirected to the Wendigo or other creatures with similar characteristics. Sam had to exercise great control in order to prevent himself from screaming in frustration whenever he hit another dead end.

He sat at the table, staring at the laptop for hours, while his eyelids grew heavier and heavier…

Dean woke at around eight thirty, grinning because it was the first morning in an entire week that he didn't feel nauseated. He sat up and rubbed his face before looking around and spotting Sam, sat at the table with his head resting on his arm, the laptop in front of him. He got up and padded over to where his brother was sleeping. He tapped the mouse pad to turn off the screen saver and saw a picture of a Wendigo flash up.

He sighed softly. _Sam, all this research is gonna kill you, _he thought. _Jeez, I thought I wasn't getting enough sleep._

He shook his head and, leaving Sam asleep, headed for the bathroom, stopping briefly to grab a clean pair of boxer shorts from his duffel bag.

Once inside the bathroom, he closed the door and dumped his boxers next to his towel on the rack. He peeled off the t-shirt and underwear he'd slept in and stepped into the shower, grabbing the tiny little bottles of shampoo and shower gel supplied by the hotel as he went.

It took what seemed liked an eternity for Dean to get the water to the right temperature; if he turned the dial too far left, and he would've been steamed like a pudding and too far right, he would've become an ice cube. Once satisfied, Dean stepped under the spray and closed his eyes as the water ran down his chest and back. He paused for a few minutes, allowing the heat of the water to seep through his skin and relax the muscles that had become stiff during the night.

Removing his head from under the jet of water, he squirted some shampoo onto his hand and worked it into his hair before rinsing away the suds. Then he did the same with the shower gel, stepping out from underneath the water to massage the soap over his slick arms and glistening torso. As his hands slid over his body, he absentmindedly moved his right hand to trail a finger along the faint scar that rested across his lower abdomen.

He briefly thought back, remembering the attack and vaguely wondering, not for the first time, what the creature actually was.

_Well,_ he thought as he stepped under the water again to rinse himself off, _I think I got off lightly. All I got from that attack was yet another scar to add to the already extensive collection._

Dean shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, reached for his towel and managed to knock his clean boxers to the floor. Sighing, he picked them up, thankfully dry, and put them back whilst he dried himself off. Once dry, he grabbed his boxers and put them on before brushing his teeth.

While he was brushing his teeth, he looked in the mirror and noticed that his stomach had a slight roundness to it; bloated, like he'd just gone through a six pack of beer. Frowning, he spat out a mass of foamy toothpaste and rinsed his mouth before straightening up and turning sideways in order to look at his stomach a little better.

"Great," he muttered to himself, still staring at his stomach. He tried to suck in his gut, but it didn't improve much. He sighed. "Well, I guess it was bound to happen some day. Looks like all those burgers finally caught up with me." He rubbed his belly briefly before turning to put the towel back on the rack and pick up his dirty clothes.

Dean opened the door and saw Sam was awake. He was about to say something, but stopped when he saw Sam had the phone pressed to his ear. The expression on his face was intense, as if the only thing that mattered was what was being told by the person on the other end of the line. Dean decided to dress while Sam finished on the phone.

"Mm-hm… hold on a sec," Sam muttered. He clamped the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he scrabbled for a piece of scrap paper and a pen. "Ok go," he said when he was ready.

Dean watched Sam scribbling furiously as he pulled his jeans up. He cursed under his breath when he only just managed to button them up.

_Great,_ he thought, as he struggled slightly to pull the zip up. _I just love shopping trips… Sam would have a field day with this._

"Thanks, dad." Deans head snapped up at the mention of his father, his too-tight-jeans momentarily forgotten. Sam nodded. "I will do… wait, dad!"

Dean held out his hand. "Let me speak to him."

Sam lowered the phone and looked at his brother apologetically. "He's already gone."

"Why didn't you let me talk to him?" Dean asked, a little angrier that he'd intended.

"_He_ hung up on _me_, Dean," Sam replied angrily.

"Why didn't you come and get me?"

"I didn't want to disturb you in case you were feeling like crap."

"I feel fine, Sam," Dean retorted sullenly. His right hand moved, as if automatically, to his stomach, cradling it protectively. This action didn't go unnoticed.

Sam frowned. "You sure about that?" His eyes flicked down to Deans stomach.

Dean looked down and removed his hand. "I'm just hungry." He felt slightly embarrassed.

Sams eyes narrowed, but he chose not to comment. Instead, he sighed softly, closed his laptop and stood up. "We need to leave."

"Why?"

"Dad knows someone who can tell us about that thing that attacked you."

"You told him?"

"Yeah… why?"

"It happened months ago Sam! He didn't have to know about it!" He wasn't sure why he felt so angry all of a sudden, but he couldn't help shouting.

Sam looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Well I think the reason you've been puking your guts up for the past month is because of the attack. You wouldn't go to a doctor and I didn't know what else to do, so I called dad… and he thinks the same thing."

"Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Because I didn't want to freak you out or anything while you were sick."

Dean scoffed. "Like we don't get freaked out everyday of our lives anyway."

"Well I'm sorry, ok?" Sam said, his tone harshly sarcastic. "I'm sorry I care, and I'm sorry I asked for help because I didn't know what else to do!"

Dean stared at Sam and suddenly felt a surge of guilt for yelling. He sighed. "I'm the one who's sorry, Sam. It's just…" He sighed again. "I don't know… I'm sorry." He stared at his feet, ashamed. He felt a prickling behind his eyes.

_What is_ wrong_ with me?_ Dean thought furiously as he blinked back tears.

"It's ok," Sam said softly. "…I'm sorry you didn't get to talk to dad, but he did sound like he was in a hurry."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well we both know it'd be easier for either of us to be hit by a meteorite before we pin dad down long enough to have a decent conversation with him, let alone find out where he is." He cleared his throat and rubbed his face. "What did he say, anyway? What did you tell him?"

"Well, I told him what it looked like and how it attacked you. He told me he'd heard a little bit about it, but an old friend would be able to tell us more."

"Is that it?" Dean asked. Sam grimaced slightly and Dean knew he wasn't going to like what he had to say. "What is it?"

"He just said that… you're in real trouble."

Dean's heart began to race and he felt a nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach. He absentmindedly placed a hand on his belly to try and sooth it.

"But," Sam continued, "he also said Scott, this friend of his, would know what to do."

Dean took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. "Ok, so where does this guy live?" He noticed he had his hand on his stomach again and removed it. He stuck both hands firmly in his pockets.

"Arizona," Sam told him, checking the piece of scrap paper he'd scrawled the information on earlier.

"Arizona? That'll take, like, the whole day to get there."

"I know. But if you want to find out what it was that attacked you, and whether or not your illness is connected to it, this guy is the best shot we've got."

Dean paused to think it over and decided that it'd be in his best interest to find out about the thing that attacked him. "Alright, we'll pack the car, grab some breakfast and put this town in the rear view mirror as soon as we can."

"Ok, but I gotta shower first."

"Hurry up," Dean called as Sam closed the bathroom door. "I'm starving!"

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it ^_^<strong>

**I wonder if any of you enjoyed reading the shower bit as much as I enjoyed writing it... ;-P heehee**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: ****This chapter, you may be glad to know, is a pretty long one. I thought about splitting it into two, but that seemed a little pointless.**

**I've come up with another original-type-creature-thing and I hope it explains smoothly... :-/ lol**

**I would also like to say that, being from England, I have very little idea where the states are and how long it takes to get there, so I apologise in advance if I offend anyone. I love the US! So please don't hate me for not being geographically correct.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

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><p>The journey was long and Dean's temper was short. After their breakfast, they hit the road, speeding across the nation in search of answers.<p>

About two hours after leaving, Dean's belly began to ache. Only mildly at first, but within twenty minutes, the muscles of his stomach were knotted so tightly they were causing him to grip the wheel in pain until his knuckles turned white. Sam, who had been dozing lightly, was woken by the sound of Dean hissing in pain.

He frowned at his older brother. "What's the matter?"

Dean didn't answer. Instead, he grunted and slowed the Impala, pulling her off the road. Once the car had stopped, he doubled over, clutching his stomach and leaning his head on the steering wheel.

Sam's frown deepened. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"My stomach," he grunted in reply. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes as another cramp twisted painfully through his abdomen. "Cramping like a bitch."

"Here," Sam said. He leant forward and opened the bag at his feet, pulled out a small bottle of aspirin and a bottle of water, and handed them to Dean. "It should help."

Dean looked up and took the painkillers. "Thanks," he muttered with a grimace, washing a couple of the tablets down with the water. He tried sitting up straight, but groaned as his muscles tightened painfully. "How far have we got left to go?"

Sam checked the map. "We're still at least five or six hours away."

"Great," Dean muttered, his tone bitterly sarcastic.

"I'll drive the rest of the way," Sam said. "You should lie down on the back seat."

"Don't you mean curl up in a ball on the back seat?" Sam frowned thoughtfully. "What?"

"Do we still have that heat gel?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"That heat gel? For muscle aches."

"Um… yeah, I think so, in the first aid kit. Why?"

"I've got an idea."

Sam got out of the car, gesturing for Dean to do the same. He followed, begrudgingly and with a scowl on his face with his right hand clamped tightly over his stomach. Sam was rooting for something in the back of the car. He must have found what he was looking for, because as Dean made his way toward him, he straightened up and closed the trunk. He held up a small tube.

"What the hell is that for?" Dean asked irritability.

"Lie down on the back seat and rub this into your stomach," Sam told him, handing him the tube of gel.

"It'll help with the cramps?"

"Yeah… Jess used to get them. Well, she had a hot water bottle, but this is the best we've got, so it'll have to do."

Dean frowned. "When did Jess get cramps?

"Uh…" Sam looked a little embarrassed. "Once a month."

"Right," Dean said quickly, understanding. "Ok. Well, if it works on chicks, it can work for me, right?"

"Here's hoping," Sam said. "Now get in the car. We've still got a long way to go."

Dean groaned at the thought, but climbed in the back seat all the same. He lay out on the back seat as Sam got behind the wheel. He unbuttoned his jeans and popped open the tube.

"Jeez!" Dean exclaimed as he squirted a small amount onto his fingers.

"What? Is it too hot?"

"No, God! This stuff stinks!"

Sam laughed softly. "Just rub it on your stomach, it should help." He started the engine and pulled back onto the road.

With his nose wrinkled, Dean started to rub the gel onto his stomach. For a few moments, he felt nothing. Dean looked on the tube, trying to determine whether or not it was still in date, when his skin started to burn. He hissed softly, but the heat suddenly became quite pleasant. His muscles began to loosen and un-knot themselves. He rubbed a little more gel onto his stomach for good measure before capping the tube and sticking it in his pocket.

"Dude, that stuff reeks," said Sam.

"Tell me about it," grumbled Dean, "although it seems to be working, so I can't really complain."

"Told you." Dean could hear his smug smirk.

"Just shut up and drive."

The cramps slowly subsided, which allowed Dean to stretch out fully on the back seat. Luckily, he didn't need to use any more heat gel during the remainder of their journey, but he did leave his jeans unbuttoned, giving his stomach a respite.

After hours on the road, during which time it got darker, Sam slowed the car and turned onto a small overgrown dirt track that would've gone unnoticed by many others, even in broad daylight.

Dean eyed the protruding branches warily. "Don't scratch her."

"Dean, the car is going to be fine," Sam said, exasperated.

Dean mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a threat under his breath as Sam continued to drive up the track.

After a few agonisingly long minutes, the path widened and they rounded a corner to be greeted by the sight of an old house that looked like it'd seen many a better day. The peeling paint may once have been white, but looked a murky grey in the light of the moon. The dirty windows, which barely allowed light to penetrate, the ones that weren't boarded up anyway, added to the ramshackle appearance of the house.

Sam pulled up in front of the porch and shut off the engine. He looked round at Dean. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

They climbed out of the car (Dean buttoning his jeans back up before closing the door) and walked to the porch steps. They hesitantly tested them with their feet, but they held, groaning underneath their combined weight. When they reached the door, which looked like the only sturdy part of the house, Dean rapped loudly on the wood with his knuckles. They waited and, after a few moments, movement could be detected on the other side.

"What do you want?" Came a gruff, muffled voice from inside.

Sam glanced at Dean briefly before answering. "Scott? Scott Parsons?"

"Who wants to know?"

"It's Sam and Dean Winchester… our dad told us you'd be able to help us with something."

There was a pause, then the clinking and rattling of numerous chains and locks could be heard. The door swung open on creaking hinges, revealing a short, skinny man in his late forties, early fifties. He was balding and had gaunt features; pale blue eyes, a pointed nose, prominent cheek bones and an angular jaw. He had the look of a Hunter, one that had seen too much… if such a thing were possible.

Scott frowned. "You John's boys?"

Dean tilted his head. "Yes sir."

Scott nodded. "He called and said you'd swing by. Sounded troubled by what you boys might be facing."

"Yeah," said Dean, "we were hoping you'd be able to provide the answers we're looking for."

"Come on in." He stood to the side , biding them entrance. They stepped over the threshold and paused while Scott closed and secured the door. "Can't be too careful," he said, before gesturing toward the small living room, situated to their right.

They followed the old Hunter and sat themselves in separate armchairs that were next to an open fire, which wasn't in use. Opposite them, across a small coffee table, was a sofa, on which Scott sat himself.

"Can I offer you boys a drink?"

Sam shook his head "I'm good, thanks."

Dean thought about it for a moment, but decided against it. "Me too."

Scott shrugged slightly then regarded the Winchesters carefully. "So… John said that one of you boys got attacked."

Dean raised a hand briefly. "I did."

"When did the attack occur?"

"A little over three months ago."

Scott nodded and leaned forward in his seat. "I'm going to need you to tell me everything that happened."

Sam and Dean launched into their story, one filling in any details the other overlooked or missed. They described what the monster looked like, what it did to its victims and how it attacked Dean. They finished by telling Scott of Deans illness, asking whether if it was in any way related to the attack.

When they were done, Scott rose to his feet and left the room without so much as one word.

"Where's he going?" Sam whispered, a frown on his face.

"How should I know?" Dean replied, an equally perplexed look on his own face.

Scott returned a few moments later with a small leather bound journal. He placed it carefully on the coffee table. "Good news is, I know what you're up against. It's called a Stolax." He flipped through the pages of the journal, which must have been old because small clouds of dust rose when two pages flopped together. He held up a picture, an old drawing. "This the thing you fought?"

They nodded. Then Dean frowned. "Wait, how can we still be up against it? Sam ganked it right after it attacked me."

Scott sighed. "Like I said, the _good news_ is that we know what you're up against."

"So what's the bad news?" Sam asked.

"What it did to you," he said, looking at Dean.

"Why? What did it do?"

Scott leaned back in his chair. "The Stolax is a solitary creature."

Dean managed to suppress an eye roll. _Here we go,_ he thought, _Stolax history 101._

Scott continued. "It only appears every fifty years to feed. It has an extremely slow metabolism, so it can live for centuries, only appearing when it needs to eat."

"And it eats human flesh," Sam said, to confirm the beasts diet.

Scott shook his head. "Bones. Calcium is what keeps this thing going, and human bones are rich in it."

"Why not eat the entire body then?" Dean asked. "In the cage in that warehouse, there were torsos that were just left to rot."

"Our internal organs are like poison to the Stolax."

Dean nodded. "Like the fugu fish?"

"Yeah, sort of."

Sam frowned and stared at Dean. "Fugu fish, Dean?"

"It's a Japanese dish," Dean said. "Most of the fish is poisonous to us, the organs and skin, but a small part is considered a delicacy."

"And you learned this, how?"

Dean looked a little embarrassed. "I watch cooking shows when I'm bored!"

Sam shrugged. "You watch Oprah, why not cooking shows too?"

Dean scowled. "Shut up, Sam."

Scott chuckled. "Are you two finished?"

"Yeah," Sam said quickly.

"Sorry," Dean added.

Scott shook his head, a small smile still on his lips. "So, like I said, the Stolax comes out of hiding, or hibernation, every fifty years or so to feed. But it also needs to breed."

"I thought you said it was solitary," Sam said.

"I did," Scott nodded, "and they are. These things are A-sexual and they need humans in order to breed."

Dean shuddered. "Ugh, gross."

"Why does it need a human?"

"Humans are used as incubators for the Stolax spawn."

Deans mouth suddenly went very dry.

"How does that work?" Sam asked, keeping his tone calm, although there was an underlying note of slight anxiety.

"The Stolax will take its victim and slice their stomach open, then spray them with a pre-fertilised embryonic fluid."

Dean looked at Scott in horror, although he managed to maintain a semi-normal facial expression, which wasn't being helped by the fact he could sense Sam shooting worried glances his way. He focused on Scott.

"The victim is usually unconscious for the fertilisation and healing process, which only takes a few days."

"Hang on," Dean said, finding his voice, "I was bedridden for a week!"

"The Stolax aids the healing process. It also creates a connection, a psychic link, between the human and the Stolax spawn, so they won't think to get rid of it throughout the… pregnancy."

"What?" Dean asked.

"The gestation period of the Stolax is similar of that of humans." Scott paused to allow Sam and Dean to absorb what he was trying to say. Realisation hit the brothers hard. Deans complexion paled slightly and he looked worriedly at Sam, who looked as concerned.

"Wait-" Sam began to say.

"What are you talking about, Scott?" Dean asked, his words laced with anxiety.

Scott sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean, but from the way you described the attack… it sounds like you're carrying the spawn of the Stolax."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, this- this can't be right… I'm a guy! I don't have the right… stuff to carry… _anything_ inside me!"

"The Stolax is A-sexual, Dean. Gender means nothing to it. Why'd you think I said 'human' instead of 'woman'?"

"Any other guys get themselves knocked up by this Stolax?" Dean asked, still sceptical.

"One or two over the past few centuries. It's rare, but it has happened."

"And how did they cope?" Sam asked.

"They were thrown into asylums, or chained up in basements, away from the view of everyone else."

"This can't be happening," muttered Dean. "This cannot be happening… I mean, I don't have that 'psychic connection' crap."

"You must have," Scott said.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, interrupting him as he was opening his mouth for a retort.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Your eyes."

"What about them, Sam?"

"Right after the attack, just before you passed out," Sam said, remembering, wondering why he hadn't mentioned it before, "your eyes flashed a kind of vivid lime green colour."

"That'll be the connection," Scott said.

Dean rubbed his face, trying to set his reeling mind straight. He sighed. "I think I'm going to need that drink now."

"You can't," Scott said bluntly.

"Oh, because it'll 'hurt the baby'?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"I'm all for that," Scott said, "but the Stolax inside you won't let you." Sam and Dean looked confused. "As much as you might want to drink yourself into a coma, as long as the connection remains, the Stolax will prevent you from doing so."

Dean stared at Scott for a few long moments, then shook his head. "I still don't believe it… It _can't_ be true."

But the more he thought about it, the more things started making sense. Why else would he feel nauseous for days on end without reason? And why would he, seemingly all of a sudden, pack on a few pounds? In this line of work, you couldn't help but keep fit. This information, as unbelievable and horrifying as it was, was true.

_I can't be though… men don't get- ok I'm not even _thinking_ of going there!_ Dean thought. _But it explains everything… the puking, the cramps… but I still can't believe it…_

"Dean?" Scott's voice stopped Deans train of thought, causing him to look up. "I know this is hard for you to believe, but it's happening… and unfortunately, you've just got to ride it out, son."

Dean looked at Scott and saw the unsaid apology written all over his face. He sighed. "Great," he muttered. "At least we know what we're up against." His voice was dripping in sarcasm.

Sam looked at his brother, an expression of deepest concern on his young face. "How do we stop it?"

"The pregnancy?"

Dean shuddered at the very word. He was _not_ pregnant!

"Yes."

"You can't."

Sam frowned, worriedly. "What? Why?"

"The connection between Dean and the Stolax spawn will prevent any harm from coming to it throughout the duration of the pregnancy."

"So this thing's just going to rip me to pieces then?" Dean asked scathingly, staring into the black hearth of the fire.

"No," Scott said softly. "I said you couldn't get rid of it _during _the pregnancy. But you can sure as hell torch the little bastard when it's born."

Sams spirit seemed to life, but Deans did not. "How will I survive the birth long enough to kill this parasitic son-of-a-bitch?"

"With this," Scott said. He rifled through the ancient journal until he found what he was looking for. With a pen and a fresh piece of paper, he began to copy a paragraph from the pages in front of him. When he'd finished, he handed it to Sam. "Don't lose that. You're gonna need it."

Sam frowned. "Why do I need it?"

"Dean's going to be a little… preoccupied when the time comes to perform the ritual."

"Ritual?" Dean asked.

"This incantation will allow the Stolax to exit the womb without killing you."

Dean suppressed another shudder. "How?"

"When the time comes for the Stolax to be born, you'll go into a trance. You'll head somewhere secluded, so that the Stolax can devour you in private."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You won't be alone. Sam has the incantation, which, when said, will reopen your old scar, created by the adult Stolax, allowing the baby to come through as safely for you as possible. Once it's out in the open, Sam, all you'll have to do is light the bastard up. Light it up like the fourth of July."

"And… Dean'll survive?"

"He's got a better chance of survival with the incantation than without it."

Dean frowned. "Hold on, how do you know so much about this thing when we found Jack Squat online?"

Scott smiled. "I am one of the last of an ancient organisation called 'The Fathers of the Forgotten'. We've been around for centuries, protecting the knowledge that has been passed down from generation to generation."

"Why don't you share this knowledge with other Hunters?"

"I swore an oath," Scott said simply, "to only give the information to those who need it."

"Lucky us," Dean muttered Darkly.

Sam glanced at Dean and thought they'd better make a move; the look in his brothers eyes spelled trouble. "Well, thank you Scott. You've been a great help, but I think we should be heading on out."

"I don't mind putting you boys up for the night."

Sam smiled. "We couldn't, but thanks anyway."

"It's around fifty miles to the nearest motel. I'm just trying to save you guys a hell of a drive for a couple hours of sleep."

"You sure?"

"Not a problem."

"Dean?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

Sam smiled at Scott. "Thanks."

"Alright." Scott stood up and gathered his journal together. "Now, I've only got the one guest room, first door on the left upstairs, so one of you will have to sleep down here." He left the room.

Sam glanced at his brother. "You can have the bed."

Dean didn't move, but he frowned. "What?"

"I'll sleep down here."

Dean snorted. "Don't be stupid, Sam. I'll sleep here, it's fine."

"Dean, I really think you should take the bed." Dean glared at Sam, a warning that he should stop talking, but the younger Winchester continued anyway. "I'm just saying that someone-"

"Sam," Dean interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet, "if the next words out of your mouth are 'in your condition', I will break your jaw."

The two brothers looked at each other, Dean with a push-me-if-you-dare look on his face, and Sam with an expression that seemed torn between saying what he felt needed to be said and wanting to keep his face intact.

Finally, Sam sighed. "Ok, I'd better get to bed."

"Yeah, I think that's wise," Dean replied, the threat of a broken jaw still in his voice.

Sam turned and made for the stairs, headed for the guest room. Dean sighed after he'd gone and rubbed his face again.

"He's only trying to look out for you." Dean looked up and saw Scott standing in the doorway, a blanket under one arm.

There was a moments pause. "I know," Dean said softly. "It's just this whole situation's… it's just got me… I mean, I…" He sighed, frustrated due to his lack of being able to find the right words to say.

"You still don't want to believe it, huh?" Scott asked. He moved to the sofa and sat down, dumping the blanket next to him.

"Yeah," Dean snorted, "you got that right."

"Look, Dean," Scott said softly, leaning forward. "If there was anything that could be done to resolve your current condition, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I know Sam would do it even faster."

Dean lowered his gaze, humbled by what the older Hunter had said, because he knew it was true.

"Don't cut your brother out, Dean," Scott continued. Dean looked up. "I'm not going to sit here and act like I know who you are, because I don't. But you're Johns boy, and I do know what family means to a Winchester… Don't cut him out, Dean."

Dean looked into the older Hunters eye for a long moment before shaking his head. "No sir."

Scott smiled softly before getting to his feet. "Now, let me get a fire started."

"Hey, don't light one just for me," said Dean, feeling a little awkward. "I'll be fine."

"Trust me, it can get awful chilly down here at night," Scott said as he gathered a few logs. "You'll thank me in the morning when you don't have frost bite."

Dean chuckled. "Fair enough."

Scott arranged the firewood in the hearth then covered it with thin twigs and bits of old newspaper. Striking a match, he set the newspaper and kindling alight. He waited until the first large log began to crackle then turned to Dean.

"Feel free to add another log or two if you need to," he said. "Make yourself comfortable, but remember to take your shoes off before you put your feet on my couch."

"No problem," Dean said, smiling slightly. Scott turned to leave. "Hey, Scott?" The older men turned around. "Thanks… for everything," Dean said gently.

Scott smiled. "My pleasure. Goodnight, Dean."

"Night."

The old Hunter turned and left the room, making his way to the stairs in order to turn in for the night.

Dean took off his boots and his jacket and lay back, trying to get comfy on his makeshift bed for the night. But his mind was too busy, still trying to process all the information he'd received, to let him sleep. So he sat on the floor with his right leg bent at the knee, providing a space for his right arm to rest, his left leg stretched out in front of him and his back resting against the coffee table.

He stared into the heart of the flames, his mind brooding over his situation, and listened to the cracking of the firewood, vaguely wondering if that's what his bones would sound like when the thing inside him burst free and started snacking on his limbs.

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><p><strong>Well, I hope you liked it ^_^<strong>

**If you have any questions about the Stolax, feel free to PM me and I'll answer them as best I can =)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey everyone. Here's the next chapter- its a little on the angsty side but its kinda fluffy too- full of brotherly love lol**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>For what seemed like hours, Dean stared into the heart of the fire, as if hoping it would provide answers or a solution to what he was going through.<p>

"Hey, Dean."

He looked up and saw Sam standing behind him. He hadn't heard him come in. "Hey, Sammy."

The younger Winchester walked round the armchairs and table to sit on Dean's left. Dean returned his gaze to the hissing flames. He'd already added another log so it didn't die down. For a few minutes, neither brother said anything. But then Dean noticed Sam was fidgeting.

"What's wrong?"

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry… for what I said before. I was kinda talking to you like… like you were a woman, and I-"

"Sam," Dean interrupted, "it's ok. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You were only trying to think of what's best for me."

Sam smiled thinly at his older brother, but then looked down, a frown on his face. He seemed to compose himself for a few moments, then sighed. "I've got to tell you something." His face was still averted, his voice barely audible above the crackling of the flames.

Dean frowned. "What is it?"

"When you were in the hospital, after the attack…" He took a shuddering breath to try and calm himself. "I had a dream."

Dean paused a moment. "Are we talking a regular waking-up-naked-in-front-of-the-whole-class kinda dream, or the psychic vision kind?"

"Psychic vision."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked. Sure, he was pissed that Sam hadn't told him- that's not the sort of thing that he should be keeping to himself- but one look at his little brothers face told him that yelling wasn't going to help the situation right now.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly. "I didn't want to tell you while you were getting better, I didn't want to freak you out during the healing process, because it would've just stressed you out. When you'd healed up, my mind was so preoccupied with the cases we were working on, I just forgot. I mean, that job in North Dakota was enough to-"

"Hey," Dean interjected sharply, pointing a finger Sam. "We made a pact." They'd sworn never to speak of the atrocities that occurred down in those sewage tunnels.

"I'm just saying, that with everything else that was going on, I forgot… Then I had another one last night. That's why I called dad for help. It was even worse than the first one… It was like a nightmare."

"What were they about?" Dean asked. "Another psychic kid?"

Sam shook his head. "… They were about you."

Dean paused. "Are you sure it was a nightmare if it had my rugged, good looking self in it?" He grinned his signature cocky smile, but stopped when he saw the look on Sam's face. His attempt to lighten the mood had definitely not worked.

"I'm being serious, Dean." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Dean felt his mouth go dry. "Well, what did you see?"

"The first time, I didn't see anything. There was just this mist that was clouding my vision, but… it was what I heard that freaked me out." He looked at Dean. "It was you. Screaming. And I couldn't do anything to help you." He paused before continuing. "In the second dream, I saw your face and… you looked so scared."

"Sam," Dean said gently, "look at what we face on a regular, almost daily, basis. Being scared is nothing new for me… I know I don't show it, but I'm usually a hell of a lot more scared than I let on."

Sam shook his head. "This was different. I know you. I know what scares you, but this was something else." He took another shuddering breath. "I saw your face, and the look of pure terror that was in your eyes…" He shook his head.

"Hey, it's going to be ok," Dean said, trying to calm the frayed nerves of his younger brother.

"No… it's not." Sam looked at Dean, and he could see there were tears in his eyes. "I didn't just see you, I heard you. Heard you screaming, in fear and pain… and you started begging."

Dean looked a little taken aback. Him? Begging?

Sam continued. "You kept saying, 'Please! Make it stop! It hurts, Sammy, make it stop!'" Sam bowed his head and rubbed his face. "You never beg, Dean." He looked at his brother. "Not once, in my entire life, have I ever heard you beg for anything."

"… Maybe your dream won't come true," Dean said, although somewhat unenthusiastically. He knew that he wasn't that lucky… he didn't even really know if he was saying it for his brothers benefit or his own.

"How can you say that?" Sam asked angrily. "My dreams have always come true!"

"Not always," Dean said. "What about that woman who lives in our old home? Jenny? You saved her. And you saved me from getting shot in the head from that whack job psychic kid."

"This is different!" Sam said heatedly. "Plus, add my dreams to all the information Scott gave us tonight…" He left the sentence unfinished, but Dean knew which direction it would've headed.

He didn't know what to say, but then Sam snorted a short laugh, mingled with a sob. "What?"

Sam laughed again, even though the tears in his eyes had started to fall. "I've just realised… I saw you die. I saw your final moments and I was useless. I couldn't do _anything_ to save you! I-"

"Hey!" Dean interrupted, once again stopping Sam in his tracks. He fixed the younger man with a steely gaze. "Just because you've seen what happens, doesn't mean we can't change it. We've done it before, we can do it again."

"But I couldn't do anything," Sam whispered, his voice cracking.

Dean shook his head and waved Sam's worries away with a wave of his hand. "Look, these next six months are going to be hard, on both of us. I can't have you thinking like that."

"But-" Sam began to protest.

"No buts," Dean said simply. He sighed. "You're all I've got Sam. With dad gone, you're the only one I can rely on. And… I'm going to have to rely on you a whole lot more than usual until this-" Dean's face twisted with loathing and disgust, "-thing that's… growing inside me, is dead."

Sam looked at him and nodded his head, sniffing. "Ok."

"Ok?"

Sam gave a small smile. "Yeah… we'll get through this together."

"That's more like it," Dean said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. He waited a few moments, then sighed. "Well, that's quite enough of the chick flick crap."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I guess." He rubbed his face again.

Dean smiled. "We'd both better get some sleep."

"Yeah."

They both stood. Dean moved to the sofa and flopped on top of it and Sam walked toward the hall. Before he left the living room, he turned to Dean.

"You sure you don't want the bed?" Dean narrowed his eyes in response. Sam smiled. "I didn't think so, but I thought I'd check… Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Hey, I'm not the one who's knocked up here."

Dean chuckled. "Sam, d'you remember when I said I'd break your jaw?"

Sam laughed and held his hands up. "I'm gone." He turned and made for the stairs.

Dean snorted a small laugh and stretched out on the sofa, folding his hands behind his head. He thought about Sam's visions.

_What ever happens, I__'__m sure we can handle it,_ Dean thought sleepily. _Can__'__t be much worse than dealing with the usual demons__…__ right?_

But in the months to come, both Winchester boys would realise that they were playing a completely different game than they were used to, and non of the usual rules applied.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it. I know it was a little on the short side compared to some of my other chapters, but I felt like it needed a chap to itself =)<strong>

**As usual, humor is not my strong point, so I hope no-one thought it was too cheesy in parts. Let me know what you think ^_^**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: First let me say sorry for the lack of updating, but I was ill for a while- tonsilitis SUCKS! Then things got crazy with uni =/ but I'm all better with (hopefully) more time on my hands, so I'll be able to update sooner =)**

**Another long chapter for you all now. Again, a little angsty.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>"Thanks again, Scott," said Dean, shaking the older Hunter's hand.<p>

"My pleasure," Scott replied, "but are you sure you don't want to stay?"

Dean sighed. "It's a generous offer, but I can't."

"It's going to get difficult," Scott told him, not for the first time. "In a few months time, you'll find walking hard, let alone running."

"I know, but I can't sit around on my ass all day while innocent people need my help. As long as I can still shoot a gun and move… relatively fast, I'm going to keep hunting."

"Scott's right."

Dean looked around and saw Sam leaning against the door frame, having just come back from making sure the car was packed.

"Give me a break, Sam," Dean groaned.

Sam sighed. "Look, all we're saying is that in a few months, you aren't going to be at your best. Someone could get hurt. _You_ could get hurt."

Dean looked from Scott's old, weathered face, to his younger brothers smooth one. They were both set; neither of them wanted him to risk himself unnecessarily, even if it was him doing his job. He resigned himself.

"Fine," he said with an exasperated sigh. "When I get too big to move, we'll stop until this whole… situation is over. Ok?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You promise?"

"Yes, Sam, I promise!" Dean said irritably. "What do you want, Scouts Honour? Or would you prefer a pinky swear?" He held out his hand with his little finger sticking up, although his face said he'd rather be sticking up another finger altogether.

"No, it's ok," Sam said, ignoring the annoyed look on his brothers face. He moved to Scott and grasped his hand. "Thanks for everything."

"My pleasure," he said again, smiling at the Winchesters.

"Well, we'd better hit the road," Dean said.

"Don't hesitate to call if you need anything," Scott told them as they walked out of the house and down the porch steps.

"We won't," Sam said. "Take care of yourself."

"You take care of each other."

Dean looked into the eyes of the older man and remembered their brief chat the night before. _Don't cut him out Dean_. "Yes sir," Dean replied.

As the two brothers climbed into the car, with Dean behind the wheel, Scott waved to them briefly before heading inside and closing the door, no doubt securing ever bolt, chain and lock he owned.

"Where to, Sammy?" Dean asked as he fired up the engine of the Impala. He reversed up and swung the car around so he was looking at the dreaded, winding path that faced him.

"I did a little research last night, although it took me longer than normal- Scott's net connection sucks."

Dean snorted a laugh as the word 'geek' flashed across his mind.

Sam continued. "There's something that looks like a spirit invasion, not far from here."

"Salt 'n' burn?"

"Looks like."

"Let's go."

Dean eased his foot gently onto the gas pedal and slowly made his way down the tangled path that had led them to Scott's house in the first place. His heart was in his mouth the entire time, driving much slower than Sam had. He didn't want to nick his baby!

When they were clear of the path and onto the road, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He hit the gas and quickly reached the speed limit with no intention of slowing down, cranking the radio up as he went. Sam groaned when AC/DC came blaring from the speakers. Dean just laughed and began singing along.

They reached their destination around five in the afternoon and checked into the first motel they saw. They got themselves settled and decided that starting their investigation now would be kind of redundant, plus Dean was almost falling asleep at the wheel, even though he would later deny he did such a thing.

The spirit they had to deal with was just your average, run of the mill vengeance-will-be-mine-even-if-I-am-dead kind of deal. It belonged to a college girl named Amy. Her and her boyfriend, David, had made a pact to stay together forever… but then she got hit by a bus. David had been devastated, but with time and the help of friends, he moved on and found someone new.

Amy's spirit didn't like that; she took the pact even more seriously in death than she had done while alive. So she scared the new girl away… and the next one… and the one after that. David belonged to Amy and she wasn't going to let anything stand in the way of their love. Not even death.

Of course, Amy had been cremated, so Sam and Dean had to resort to looking for any other remains that had been left behind. Luckily, David kept a lock of her hair in a photo album.

With Amy's hair burned and her spirit smouldering, her hold over David vanished and he was free to date who ever he wanted… although he now had a reputation on campus for being haunted by the ghost of his dead girlfriend.

"Another job well done," Dean said as they climbed into the car.

"Lets just hope they're all this easy," muttered Sam.

"Yeah," laughed Dean, "and how likely do you think that'll be?"

Sam didn't reply, but he didn't need to. In their line of work, things were rarely simple, and when they were, they didn't stay simple for long.

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><p>The two Winchesters continued to take on all the jobs they could, this new found want fuelled by Dean. He felt he needed to help as many people as possible before the inevitable happened and he became house bound.<p>

As the weeks went by, Dean's stomach expanded steadily. He resorted to stealing Sam's jeans, until Sam had had enough of finding mustard stains on his clothes and dragged his brother to a men's 'Tall and Large' store to buy some more clothes.

"This is embarrassing, Sam!" Dean hissed as they browsed a rack for new jeans. A large man to their right was going through a rack of 5XL size shirts. "I am _not_ fat!"

Sam sighed. "Dean, you're going to be bigger soon enough. Too big for my jeans, even… it would be nice to pick up a pair of pants that wasn't covered in food stains."

"Ok, but I am not going to need 6XL jeans!" Dean exclaimed quietly. He _really_ didn't want to be here.

"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low. "I can't exactly walk to into a maternity store and say, 'Hi, my brother was knocked up by a monster, do you have anything that'll fit him?' Guys aren't usually the ones with the bun in the oven."

"This," Dean said, jabbing a finger at his stomach, "isn't a bun. It's evil; an abomination." He began shoving pairs of jeans roughly aside until he found a pair that he didn't want to completely tear to shreds.

"Make sure you get a few in the next sizes up," Sam suggested. He'd moved on to looking at shirts.

"You're hustling to pay for all of this," Dean grumbled mutinously.

"It's your stuff."

Dean quickly checked that there was no-one in their immediate vicinity, then spread his arms wide and gesticulated to his bulbous belly. "And how do you expect me to bend over a pool table with _this_?"

Sam glanced at his stomach ad frowned thoughtfully. "With great difficulty?"

Dean glared. "Not funny, Sam."

After a few more minutes of searching, and complaining from Dean, they moved to the front of the store and paid for Dean's new wardrobe.

When they got back to their motel, Dean repacked his duffel bag and stowed his regular clothes away safely in the trunk of the car, ready for when he'd need them again.

_If I live that long,_ Dean thought darkly. It wasn't the first time his thoughts had turned to what Sam had dreamt and what it meant for him if his vision came true. Dean shook his head. _I can't think like that. I scalded Sam for imagining the worst… I can't exactly tell him to have faith and have none myself… Gotta think positive. _He rubbed his face and paused for a moment, then he groaned. _Yeah, like that's going to be easy._

He shut the trunk of the car and made his way back into the motel, where Sam was waiting to give him the run down on their next job.

"Finished?" Sam asked as Dean closed the door.

"Yeah. What've we got?"

Sam sighed. "Nothing much. Apart from a few cranky ghosts, everything seems kinda quiet." Dean frowned at him. "What?"

"Don't 'what?' me, Sam."

The younger Winchester looked at Dean with what he hoped was an innocent, befuddled expression, but Dean knew better.

He glared at Sam. "So you're telling me that you checked everything, everywhere? And that there's _nothing_ else going on?"

Sam held his gaze for a second or two longer, then looked at the floor.

"That's what I thought," Dean muttered.

"Dean, come on," Sam said, looking up at his older brother. "What am I supposed to do? I want to keep you safe, keep you alive! If stopping you from taking on dangerous cases, so be it!"

"And sacrifice potentially hundreds of lives in the process?" Dean thundered. "That's not how this works, Sam!"

"So, what, you're willing to throw your life away to save theirs?" Sam yelled back.

"I'm not going to be throwing anything away! I know my duty, Sam!"

"Screw duty!" Sam shouted. "What's the point if it gets you killed?"

Dean opened his mouth for a retort, but something stopped him. Instead of a comeback, all that left his lips was a pain filled his. His right hand shot to his stomach and the other slammed against the wall in order to steady himself.

Sam's face, that was only moments ago contorted with anger, creased with worry; all traces of rage- gone, within the blink of an eye. He rushed to his brothers side.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked urgently. He grabbed Dean's right shoulder and jammed his other hand under his left armpit, and not a moment too soon.

Whatever had happened to Dean, happened again, causing his knees to buckle. If Sam hadn't have been holding onto him, he would've crashed to the floor. Dean grunted in pain and clung onto Sam with his left hand.

"Come on," Sam said quickly, hoisting Dean roughly to his feet. "You gotta sit down."

With Sam's help, Dean got back his balance and stumbled to the nearest bed. Once on it, he shuffled back until he was propped up against the headboard. Sam sat on the bed, observing the pained expression on his brothers face and the way he kneaded the side of his stomach with the side of his hand.

"What happened?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean saw the look on his face; Sam was scared. He groaned. "I think this little son-of-a-bitch has learned how to use its bone scythe. Feels like its trying to cut its way outta me already."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Short of cutting me open early and torching this little sucker now, I doubt it." His breath hitched again, but the pain wasn't as intense. He rested his head against the headboard and closed his eyes.

There was a few moments of silence until Sam spoke softly. "Four and a half months."

Dean opened his eyes. "What?"

"It's usually at this point in the pregnancy that they baby starts to move."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, but this things not a baby. It's not gonna grow up to be a soccer player, it's gonna grow up and eat me!" Dean scowled. "It'll chew on my flesh and snap my bones into tiny little pieces." He said it more to himself than Sam.

"Don't talk like that, Dean."

He looked up and saw the look on Sam's face. The whole situation was tearing Dean up physically, but he knew that Sam was suffering too, on an emotional, mental level.

It'd been Sam who'd had to see Dean in such agony before it happened. It'd been Sam who tossed and turned every night since the attack, desperately thinking of ways to save his brother. There's no denying that Dean was the victim, but Sam was suffering just as much.

Dean sighed softly. "Come on, man," he said. "You know what the 'puppy eyes' do to me." Sam smiled slightly, but the sadness in his eyes lingered. "Look, I said we'd get through this and we will. Just… if it makes you feel better, just ignore me when ever I talk like that, ok?"

Sam's smile widened somewhat and he gave a small laugh. "Ok."

"So, are you going to find a better job to work on? Something more than just a cranky ghost?"

Sam's expression quickly became irritated again. "Dean-"

"Sam," he interrupted, "I don't want to hear it." He looked at his brother as his eyes grew sad once more. Dean sighed. "Fine. Find us a job that isn't life threateningly dangerous, but, please… not a salt-and-burn. I'm sick of them."

Sam smiled. "Ok, I think I can do that." He stood up and made his way to his laptop.

"Plus," Dean added thoughtfully, "the smell of lighter fluid makes me kinda… nauseous."

"I thought you liked you ghosts extra toasty?"

"I do, but lately I can't stand the smell."

While Sam tapped away at his keyboard, Dean noticed his hand was still cradling his stomach. He frowned and went to remove it, but he stopped. Instead of taking his hand away like he wanted to- God knows he despised the little monstrosity inside him with every fibre of his being- the urge to stroke his belly was stronger, causing him to make small circles with his hand.

Sam looked up after a few moments, looking like he had the job compromise sorted. He paused and frowned when he saw Dean rubbing his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Dean said, looking up. His hand stopped moving, but stayed on his bulbous belly. "I want to move my hand, but…" His expression changed from confusion to fury and disgust. "This thing won't let me."

Realisation dawned on Sam's face. "The psychic connection."

Dean's features were still contorted with disgust. "I feel like some part of me wants to.." he pulled a face, "_love_ this thing! Like there's some part of me that's screaming 'Give it your love!' even though I _know_ its not human!"

"Scott said that the Stolax spawn will do anything to survive, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe this is one of its fail safes." When Dean gave him a confused look, Sam elaborated. "Look, this thing prevents you from eating or drinking anything harmful, right?"

Dean sorted. "Tell me about it, I haven't had a beer since the attack. Not even a goddamn cup of coffee!"

"Maybe this thing needs love to survive too."

"Give me a break," Dean muttered.

"Think about it. The women that this has happened to, wake up with no recollection of what's gone on over the past few days. Now, call me crazy, but if I was in their shoes-"

"Uh," Dean interrupted. He pointed to himself. "Hello?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What I meant, was that if I was a woman and I found out I was pregnant, without having any recollection of how it happened, I'd want to get rid of it as soon as possible."

Dean nodded. "The psychic connection prevents them from getting an abortion."

"Exactly. And think back. In the 50's, what single woman would want to go through this? Being pregnant and alone? And not even knowing how it happened!"

Dean sighed and stared at his hand, still on his stomach. "So, the spiny monster needs love to survive." He snorted and his tone became sarcastic. "It'd be kinda cute if it wasn't so hideously deadly." He winced slightly as the Stolax poked him from within.

"Well, we'd better buckle up," Sam said. "Another four and a half months to go."

"And its only going to get worse… joy." Dean rubbed his stomach once more, then finally removed his hand. "Anyway, job?"

Sam rolled his eyes again, but turned back to his laptop all the same. After a few seconds, he found what he was searching for. "Looks like there's a witch causing a bit of trouble- couple towns over."

"Define 'a bit of trouble', Sam."

"There've been reports of teenagers being struck deaf and blind over the past few weeks. Plus, today, one was reported as being struck dumb. Those that can still speak have all screamed about a witches curse."

Dean shuddered. "Ugh, I hate witches."

"Well, its either this, or a salt-and-burn. Trust me, I've got tons of those."

Dean only had to think for a split-second. "Lets go hunt us a witch!"

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><p><strong>Well, hoped you enjoyed it and that it makes up for my lack up updates =)<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Well... hello there. I do still exist, I promise- I've just had a lot on my plate and writing/typing my stories had be put on the back burner, for which I cannot apologise enough. But, as I have said, I will continue uploading this story, if it is a little slow.**

**Anyway, I'll tell you now that this chapter is a little gross, so anyone with an extremely weak stomach should probably give it a miss.**

**Let me know what you think :)**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>It turned out that the job didn't involve a witch per-say, just some of her crap that had been left lying around after she'd died. Well, technically, it had been stolen by a group of teenagers who had broken into her abandoned house due to a lost bet.<p>

The stolen item in question was an ornate broach made of pewter, welded in a way that resembled three grotesque looking monkeys. The first was covering its ears, the second was covering its eyes and the third was covering its mouth.

"The Three Wise Monkeys," Sam murmured. They'd searched the house the teenagers had broken into and found a box with a picture of the broach inside.

"What?" Dean asked, confused.

"The Three Wise Monkeys," Sam repeated. "You know, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil?"

Dean frowned. That's an actual thing?"

"Yes," Sam sighed. Then it was his turn to frown. "But I don't get it. This is supposed ward evil off. Not curse people."

"So, why the hell have we got teens being struck dumb, deaf and blind?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe the kids who stole it tripped some kind of magical security alarm?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great. So how do we deal with the mess this curse has made?"

"Well, the witch who owned the broach could undo the damage."

"Well, she _could_, if she hadn't already been dead for years."

"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out Sherlock… I guess we could try finding her ** ?** That might give us some kind of clue as to how to reverse it."

Dean groaned. "Not only are witches grossly disturbing and insanely creepy, they are also incredibly annoying!" It could take ages to-"

"Found it."

Dean looked at his little brother and saw he was holding a tattered, leather bound book in his hand. He grinned. "Piece of cake!"

Sam rolled his eyes and started flicking through the old pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Here. It mentions that, as well as the counter curse, 'casting the broach into purifying flames will also rid the victims of their misfortune'," Sam said.

"Huh? How the hell do we do that?"

"I guess it just means salt and burn it," Sam said.

Deans face dropped. "Are you kidding me? Are you freaking _kidding_ me? We come on a witch hunt just to find that she's already dead, and _then_ we find out we've gotta salt-and-burn her Goddamn broach!"

Sam could see his brother was about to explode. "Look, I'll do it myself, ok?"

Dean paused and took a breath. "Good… but first we've got to find the damn thing."

Sam rolled his eyes again, a 'thanks-a-bunch-captain-obvious' look all over his face. "Yeah, I know." Then a thought hit him. "I think we need to go and see that kid who can't talk."

"Uh, Sam?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?" Sam said as he made to leave the house, pocketing the picture of the broach in the process.

"He can't talk." Dean sounded like he was talking to a three year old. "How is he going to be able to answer your questions?"

Sam turned around and adopted a similar pattern of speech as Dean. "He can write what he has to say on paper. I'll ask him to name everyone involved and then I'll find out who has the broach and destroy it. A quick salt and burn and we'll be on our merry little way."

Dean thought it over. "Sounds good to me."

So they donned their suits, ready for an official 'fake police' interview. Well, Sam put on his suit. Dean had to sit on the side lines on the account of his belly being too big to fit in his formal attire, and he was insistent that he was never going to set foot inside a 'Tall 'n' Large' store _again._ So, he had to wait at the motel for Sam to finish asking a kid who couldn't talk a bunch of questions.

It had grown dark outside by the time Sam returned and Dean was dozing, one hand resting protectively on his stomach. The younger Winchester tried to be quiet, but as he opened the fridge for a drink, Dean jerked awake.

"Hey," Sam said softly, "didn't mean to wake you." He closed the fridge with two soda cans in hand. He handed one to Dean and opened the other.

"Don't worry about it," he said sleepily as he took the can. "Thanks."

Sam took a swig of his drink. "You'll be pleased to know that it's done."

Dean frowned. "Huh?"

"The curse is taken care of."  
>"Really?" Dean opened his own can and took a drink.<p>

"Yeah, that kid who couldn't talk? He had the broach."

"He did?"

Sam nodded and took another swig. "He told me, well, wrote me, that he was going to go to the police and tell them what they'd done. The others didn't want him squealing about their breaking and entering and told him to keep his mouth shut 'or else'. But after he lost his voice, he found the broach, which was hidden in an old church, I think, and stole it."

"It took him this long to tell someone? Why didn't he go to the cops sooner?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess he didn't want to get himself into trouble as well."

"You take of the broach?"

"Yup. Extra crispy," Sam said. "And I checked on the rest of the kids who'd been affected and they seem to have made a full recovery."

"Well, at least we fried something," Dean said. "Just a pity it wasn't the witch herself." He drained the rest of his can.

Sam chuckled and took the empty can from his brother. "You and witches, man." He tossed the cans into the trash.

Dean shuddered. "I hate them!"

"Yeah, it's been said before."

"Hey, are you getting hungry?" Dean asked. He swung his legs round and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I could eat," Sam said. "What've you got in mind?"

Dean frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure." He mulled over their usual choices before a look of exasperation came over his face. "Oh, God."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Ugh, I think… I think I'm having cravings."

Sam laughed. "What're you craving? Pickles and ice-cream?"

"No… I want ice-cream, just not with pickles."

"With what then?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't really know…" He thought for a few moments more before realisation dawned on his face. However, accompanying the look of realisation was a look of confused disgust. "Oh my God."

"What do you want?" Sam asked, a little hesitantly.

Dean shook his head incredulously then sighed. "Mince."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Mince," Dean repeated.

"Mince?"

"Yeah."

"As in… hamburger mince?" Sam looked as confused and disgusted as Dean felt.

"Yup…" He pulled a face. "I want pork mince."

"Pork mince?" Sam could barely believe what he was hearing.

"Yeah."

"With ice-cream?"

"… Uh-huh."

"Do you… do you want it… cooked?"

Dean paused, battling with the spawn inside him and its infernal psychic connection, but he lost. "No."

Sam looked ill at the very thought of that insanely disgusting concoction. "So, you want raw pork mince, with ice-cream?"

"Vanilla ice-cream, yeah, and lets get one thing straight," Dean said quickly, "_I_ do not want to eat this gross craving or whatever the hell this is!" He pointed to his stomach. "This thing wants it! I'd rather be sinking my teeth into a double bacon cheeseburger!"

Sam shuddered. "That sounds disgusting."

"Tell me about it," Dean complained, "I'm the one who's going o be eating it!"

"Well, technically, you don't _have_ to eat it, right? I mean, its just a craving."

"Yeah, but I get the feeling that I'm going to get very cranky, very soon if this thing inside me doesn't get raw pork mince and ice-cream," Dean grumbled, the look of disgust still on his face.

Sam grimaced. "Great, mood swings."

"Yeah," Dean said, "and we both know it ain't a pretty sight when I'm in a bad mood."

"Right," Sam said. He quickly grabbed the car keys and made for the door. "Pork mince and vanilla ice-cream it is… I'm going to stick to Chinese."

"Good call," Dean said before Sam headed out of the motel and toward the nearest store to pick up the revolting concoction that made up the Stolax spawn craving.

Sam was gone for what seemed like hours, during which time Dean did some channel hopping and got a couple of kidney shots from the beast inside him.

He was on the verge of pacing the floor- the Stolax was wriggling and writhing non stop due to its craving going unfulfilled- when Sam walked in with bags of food.

"Dude! What took you so long?" Dean asked desperately.

Sam frowned. "I've only been gone for fifteen minutes."

"What? That can't be right." He turned to look at the clock behind him on the wall and saw that it was true. Dean groaned; it'd sure felt like a hell of a lot longer. "You get the stuff?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, holding one of the bags out for him.

"Thanks." Dean grabbed the bag with an enthusiasm that wasn't his own. He took it to the kitchen area and proceeded to grab a large bowl and a spoon.

"I'm gonna… eat this outside," Sam muttered, trying not to look at what his brother was about to eat.

"I don't blame you… No eating in the car!" Dean called after Sam as he headed quickly out the door.

As much as he wanted to check that Sam wasn't eating his greasy Chinese takeout in his car, the urge to combine and consume the mince and ice-cream was overwhelming.

He ripped the plastic wrap off the pack of meat and dumped it into the bowl, removing the strip of paper that was stuck to the bottom. Next, he opened the tub of ice-cream and added roughly the same amount to the bowl, so the mixture was about half and half. Taking the spoon, Dean mixed the ice-cream and mince together, until it looked like a stew, the ice-cream turned pale pink from the blood of the meat. Dean dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it up again, full of the nauseating mixture.

_This must be what it feels like to be possessed,_ Dean thought as he lifted the spoon to his lips and shovelled the contents into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then went back for more. _I have _no _control! God knows I don't want to do this!_ He chewed another mouthful, feeling the soft, smooth strings of mince slide on his tongue and ease down in throat.

Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to stop, but the Stolax spawn's psychic connection prevented him from doing so, only allowing him to put down the spoon when the bowl was empty and its appetite was sated.

Dean stared at the bowl and waited for the inevitable wave of nausea to strike, to hit him full force. But it didn't. He placed a hand on his stomach and felt… nothing. No wriggling. No jabs or stabs… nothing.

"Ok," Dean muttered to himself as he picked up the bowl and spoon and dumped them in the sink. "I'm adding that to a long list of things I never want to do again."

Sam came in a few moments later, still chewing, while Dean was putting away the ice-cream. He threw away the remains of his takeout.

"Enjoy that?" Dean asked as he watched Sam lick his fingers.

"Yeah," he replied. "What about you? You enjoy your… whatever the hell it was?"

"Me? No. The Stolax? You bet." He shook his head. "It was _beyond_ disgusting, but I couldn't stop myself."

"I am so glad I didn't have to watch you eat that crap."

"I wish I hadn't have had to watch _myself_ eat that crap!" Dean shuddered then sighed. "At least this thing seems happy now- hasn't moved since I finished eating."

"Well, lets hope you don't have to eat it again, or at the very least, that often."

Dean shook his head. "Why would it want raw meat? I mean, I can kinda understand the ice-cream craving."

Sam nodded. "It's a source of calcium."

"Right. These suckers thrive on the stuff, but the raw meat?"

"Well…" Sam sighed. "When the Stolax is born, it usually eats the flesh of its host, as well as the bones."

"Right," Dean muttered as realisation dawned across his features. He sighed and rubbed his face.

"Hey," Sam said softly, "you're gonna be fine."

Dean looked at his younger brother and managed a small smile. "I know, Sammy. I'm just… a little tired."

"Ok. Um, we'll both get a good nights sleep, then hit the road in the morning. I think I read about a demonic possession a couple states over.

Dean nodded, heading toward his bed. "Sounds like a plan."

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><p><strong>Hope it wasn't to nauseating for you to read lol. And just to clarify, I have no idea what the texture raw mince feels like (ew) so I just went with what I thought it'd feel like.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I know this chapter is a little on the short side, but I think it'd make the next one too long if they were joined. So I decided it would work better as a bit of a filler.**

**Next chapter will be coming really soon, I promise =)**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>The exorcism went as well as it could have, what with Dean not being able to move as swiftly as he once could and all. The girl being possessed couldn't have been any older than eighteen, but, because of the demonic son-of-a-bitch controlling her, she was match enough for the brothers. They lured her into a devils trap and Dean pelted her with salt and holy water while Sam started the exorcism.<p>

"How do you like that, bitch?" Dean yelled as he drenched her with holy water.

The demon screamed as the girls body was splashed, the water sizzling as it hit. Dean's smile, which had come to his lips as he heard the demon shriek, quickly changed to a frown when the evil inside the young woman started to laugh. Sam faltered, but continued with a nudging look from his older brother.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked roughly.

The demon looked at him though jet black eyes and laughed again. "The Great Dean Winchester. I've got to say, you aren't at _all_ what they say you are. I mean, where's your trim physique?"

Dean clenched his jaw. "Go to hell," he spat.

"Wish I could, sweetie." The demon smiled and looked Dean up and down, her malevolent eyes coming to rest on his rounded abdomen. She squinted curiously. "Whatcha got in there?" She gesticulated to his stomach, reaching for it as if she longed to caress it.

Dean took a step back and placed a protective hand across his belly. "You stay away from us," he growled. He felt a surge of energy come from his stomach and spread throughout his body.

The demon let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, this is just too _good_!"

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Dean," Sam muttered, "your eyes…"

"What about them?"

"They just gave the game away," giggled the demon. She sounded delighted. "There's only one thing that would make a humans eyes glow that colour." She giggled again, the throaty sound sending a crawling sensation down Dean's spine. "And that means… you'll be ripped to shreds. There isn't a demon in creation that won't be glad to hear that you, Dean Winchester, will finally meet a deliciously bloody end. I think this is a befitting end for you, after all the crap you've put us through." The black eyed monstrosity started laughing once again.

Sam, who had stopped the incantation, started up again, his lips moving quicker than before. The demon stopped laughing and started screaming as it was expelled forcefully from the mouth of the young woman. Both brothers rushed forward as she collapsed. Sam stooped to the floor to check she was ok while Dean remained standing.

He checked her pulse and the nod he gave Dean signified she was still alive. "Hey," he said softly, lifting her head and brushing the hair out of her face. He shook her gently. "Hey, you're ok. It's gone now."

They waited for a few moments and were relieved when her eyelids fluttered open and she started to groan.

"What… who are you?"

Sam smiled. "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean," he said, indicating with his head. Dean tilted his head in greeting. "What's your name?"

"Jane."

"Ok, Jane. It's going to be alright."

She looked confused for a few seconds before a look of horror and disgust contorted her features. "Oh my God! What have I done?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"It wasn't you," Dean told her softly, reassuring her. He noticed he still had his hand on his belly. He removed it and stuck both hands in pockets.

Jane shook her head and began to weep. She sat up and cradled her head in her hands. "The things I did… but I couldn't stop myself! I didn't want to, but- but-"

"You didn't do anything," Sam said gently. He put a hand lightly on her shoulder. He sighed. "You were possessed by a demon."

Jane managed a hysterical cry of strangled laughter. "A demon? Are you insane? Demons don't exist, they aren't real!"

"Do you remember seeing any black smoke?" Dean asked.

She frowned. "Why?"

It's important," Sam urged.

"Um… yeah, I- I think so."

"When?"

"About three months ago."

"Can you remember anything from the last three months?"

"Just… little moments…" Jane began to cry again.

"Am I right in guessing that you couldn't control your own body?" Dean asked. "Like someone else was driving- you were a passenger in your own body?"

She nodded. "I didn't want to do the things I did to them," she exclaimed, her voice cracking. "But I had to watch as I… as I killed them. Watch as the light in their eyes went out. They're dead because of me!"

"No," Sam told her, "they're not. You were possessed. Your body was being used by a demon, but it wasn't you doing the killing."

"You're not evil," Dean said. "Believe me, we know evil and you sure as hell ain't evil."

"So, I'm not in trouble?" Jane asked timidly, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"No," Sam said. "There's no mention of you or the… murders, in the papers or on the news, so I think you're safe."

"Although, you might catch hell from your parents," Dean said.

"Oh God!" Jane whimpered. A new look of terror joined the already haunted look on her face. "What am I going to say?"

"You could say you got kidnapped," Sam suggested, "and you got away."

Jane nodded and stood up. "How am I going to get home?"

"We'll drive you," Sam told her.

Dean shot his brother a look before quickly asking, "Where do you live?" He was all for aiding those in need of supernatural help, but there was a limit- not everyone could ride in his baby!

It turned out that Jane only lived about an hour away. After dropping her off, the Winchesters stayed just long enough to watch Jane reunited with her parents, before taking off, leaving the young woman to deal with the fact that there _were_ things that go bump in the night.

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><p><strong>AN: As I said, I know it's short, but the next one will make up for it =)**

**Let me know what you guys think, I always enjoy reading feedback.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Again, apologies for the lack of updating- you guys are the best for being so patient with me :)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

As the weeks went by, Sam and Dean continued to hunt the various monsters that sound like they belong in a horror movie and the job got increasingly difficult for Dean. As he entered his sixth month of his hellish monster incubation… thing (he _refused_ to call it a pregnancy, because he was _not_ carrying a baby), realisation hit home for him and he knew he needed to stop hunting.

This realisation came when they were tracking down the whereabouts of a particularly pissed off spirit, who, in life, had been a machete wielding murderer. Ironically enough, the murderers last name had been Acker which caused people to dub him 'Hacker' once he started his homicidal rampage.

Dean had come, despite Sam's protests and best efforts to try and deter him.

"Sammy, would you quit worrying?" Dean asked as he packed rock-salt rounds into a bag. "You know, your stress is going to rub off on me, and it's not good for my blood pressure."

"Neither is hunting violent spirits, Dean!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Lets go."

When it transpired that Dean was too big to fit behind the wheel, Sam had thought he would be able to leave him behind.

No such luck.

Dean had threatened to clock Sam in the jaw if he didn't move out of the way of the passenger side door. Even though he couldn't run anymore, or walk too well for that matter, Dean could definitely still throw a mean hook. Sam had had no choice but to let his brother ride shotgun; he didn't want to get a beating _before_ they'd gone up against the spirit.

They found the dead, sadistic son-of-a-bitch in a small abandoned farmhouse, just on the outskirts of town.

"You know," Dean said as they entered the building, his nose wrinkled in disgust, "you'd think that he'd tidy the place up a bit." He observed the crumbling walls and rotted walls. "I really hope the roof doesn't cave in."

"Shh," Sam said. He lowered his voice. "I think I hear something."

Dean paused, trying to steady his now ample frame, and listened. For a few moments he heard nothing. He waited a little while longer, hoping something would happen soon- his back was staring to ache. But just as he was about to snap at Sam for the false alarm, he heard it.

The slow scrape of metal on metal.

Even though the two brothers had heard virtually every creepy sound in the book, not to mention a few that aren't, it never failed to send a shiver down their spines and chill them to the core.

Dean felt a quiver from the beast within and the following shudder that ran through his body told him that it was scared. He took one hand off his gun and placed it on his belly, as if to reassure the foul creature that was growing there. It worked. Dean's touch seemed to sooth the Stolax; it stopped moving and settled down.

The noise got louder and the Winchesters raised their guns, ready to to shoot, when the sound stopped. Dean looked at Sam and they shared a frown. But that moment, the split second that they relaxed their attention, was all the spirit needed.

He materialised behind Dean, who was made aware of this by the look of shock and anxiety on Sam's face, accompanied by the command to move.

Dean tried to duck and, had he not been burdened with the beast inside him, he would have made it out of the way unharmed. But the spirit was too quick. He struck Dean on the back of the head with the hard handle of his machete, which knocked him sideways into the wall.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He fired his shotgun and blasted the spirit with rock-salt, who vanished in a swirl of air.

Sam rushed over to Dean, but before he could assess what damage had been done, he was catapulted across the room. He crashed into the wall and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The spirit materialised in front of Dean and wrapped its bony fingers around his throat. Its features were gaunt; transparent grey skin stretched tight over its skull gave the spirit a skeletal appearance. The eyes, however, shone with a mad delight. Even in death, this murderers gaze still seemed so alive. The spirit raised his weapon of choice and, even in the poor light, the blade gleamed maliciously.

Dean struggled to break free, but the cast iron grip of the spirit was relentless. All he could do was watch as the machete was lowered slowly, almost teasingly, and pressed to the exposed flesh of his forearm. Dean locked gazes with the dead murderer and stared as he felt the ghostly blade bite. He yelled as a burning pain erupted in his arm.

As the machete was raised again, Dean heard the most welcome sound in the world- the _snick-clack_ and accompanying explosion from his brothers shotgun. Mingled with the angry yell of the ghost, cheated of its kill, it could almost have been music.

Sam was at his side in an instant, pouring salt around them, forming the simple yet effective protective barrier.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked once they were safe.

Dean grunted as a throbbing pain shot through his head. "I've been better," he mumbled. He sat himself in a more comfortable position.

"Keep still," Sam told him. He knelt and moved Deans head forward so he could look at his wound.

"Ow!" Dean hissed.

"Sorry," Sam muttered. After a few moments he let go of his brothers head and began examining his arm. "They don't seem too bad. There's no cut to your head, but you'll need to stem the bleeding on your arm. Could've been a lot worse."

"Great." Dean took a rag out of his pocket. It was greasy from when he'd been shining the Impala a few days ago, but it would do. He wrapped it around his arm and tied it, pressing slightly to try and stop the bleeding as best he could.

"What do we do now? Hacker was cremated."

"There's gotta be something left."

"I'll go and check around. You stay here."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, like I'm going anywhere."

Sam stood up and raised his gun as he wandered deeper into the house in search of something to burn.

Sitting there, Dean listened to the sounds of the house around him, the sigh of the wind as it blew through the rotted walls and creaking of the ancient floorboards.

_Maybe… maybe Sam was right,_ he thought, absentmindedly putting a hand on his stomach. _I'm no good like this._

He sighed and rubbed his face, battling with himself internally. On one hand, he felt he _had_ to keep hunting. There were so many people that still needed their help and if they didn't save them, who would? But, on the other hand, in the condition he was in, he was more of a hindrance than a help. He couldn't run, or even walk very well and his evasive manoeuvres had been turned to crap. He knew if he carried on, he was going to get someone hurt, maybe even killed.

_What if I… end up kill Sam?_ Dean thought. _He's the only person I have… I can't let anything happen to him… I've gotta protect them._

Dean shook his head. Them? Who's 'them'? Then it dawned on him. 'Them' included the Stolax spawn. The little beast had used its psychic connection to infiltrate his thoughts.

"I didn't mean you," Dean muttered spitefully to his stomach. "I meant Sam." He received an internal stab for the remark.

Before he could retort, which would have earned him another jab, the muffled sounds of fighting came from upstairs. He heard Sam yell and fire off a few rounds.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. He tried to stand up to help, but his bulging stomach, and the psychic connection, prevented him from leaving the floor. All he could do was sit and listen. There was another shot fired, followed by a heavy thud. "Sam!"

Then there was a screech… then silence. Dean waited for a few moments, his heart in his mouth. Just as he opened his mouth to call Sam again, footsteps could be heard and his younger brother came around the corner.

"Sam! Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He was rubbing his left shoulder and rolling his neck in a way that suggested that he had caused the loud thud that had been heard earlier, but it didn't seem too bad.

"Hacker?"

"Extra crispy."

Dean felt himself sigh with relief. "What was it?"

"A lock of hair, a nail and what looked like an ear."

"An ear?"

"Yeah." Sam crouched down and sat down heavily next to Dean. "Turns out mom was just as crazy as her son. This must have been her house- I found a shrine in her bedroom. His remains were in a bowl and she'd scrawled all over the walls, 'My darling son, may your spirit live on forever.'" Dean grunted disgustedly. Sam sighed. "Come on, we'd better get back to the motel. I think your arm'll need stitches." He stood and offered Dean his hand.

"Great," he muttered, taking Sams hand and hauling himself clumsily to his feet.

Once they were on the road and out of sight of the house, Dean cleared his throat.

Sam frowned. "You ok?"

"Yeah." He paused then sighed. "We need to stop."

Sam knew what he meant, but he confirmed it anyway. "Hunting?"

There was a pause. "Yeah."

Dean wasn't happy that he'd finally made the decision to stop hunting, but he knew it was for the best. Sam tried to think of something to say that would lighten Deans spirits, but after taking one look at his face, he didn't think there was anything he could say at that moment that would make him feel any better.

They continued heading back to the motel in silence for some much needed rest and to decide on what they were going to do now that they were officially out of the game.

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><p><strong>Again, thank you for waiting and being patient :) I hope I managed to capture Deans feelings about stopping hunting- I always try to keep the characters as realistic as possible.<strong>

**Let me know what you think!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: So... hi... I know I say this each time I update, but I am really sorry for the lack of updates, but uni has been mad over the past 5-6 months, plus I was in an accident a while back so that didn't help anything, but I am going to do a double update! *cue cheers***

**This chapter is kinda short, but the next one is quite long and I hope you all forgive me for being a sucky updater**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>The first thing Sam did when they got back to the motel, was put the kettle on and get the first aid kit ready; the needles needed to be sterile for him to stitch up Dean's arm. Dean slumped on one of the dining chairs with his wounded arm resting on the table, waiting for Sam to come and patch him up.<p>

Once he was ready, Sam moved everything over to the table and sat down in front of Dean. "Ok," he said, dipping some gauze into a mixture of hot water and alcohol, "take that rag off your arm."

Dean started unpicking the knot on the rag he'd tied round his arm. "You know, we usually do this after I've downed half a bottle of whiskey." The Stolax rolled viciously within him and his stomach seemed to tremble, as if it was growling at him. "Hey, did I say I was going to?" Dean asked his stomach angrily and the Stolax stopped. "Like you'd let me anyway," he muttered under his breath.

He finished untying the rag and peeled it from his arm. He tossed it aside and closed his eyes, ready for Sam to start closing up his arm.

There was a pause. "What the hell?" Sam muttered.

"What?" Dean asked, his eyes still closed. He felt Sam grab his arm. His eyes flew open. "What're you-?"

"Look at your arm!" Sam instructed.

He did and frowned; what he saw was extremely confusing. Where there had been a fairly serious knife wound, not one hour ago, there was now no wound at all. Not even a trace.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, echoing Sam. He ran his fingers across the unharmed skin. His frown deepened, but then disappeared as the evil spawn inside him seemed to purr gently, almost as if saying, '_You're welcome_.' Dean huffed. "Looks like you can pack up Sammy. I don't think baby monster wants anything happening to its incubator."

"So that thing's protecting you?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. "Looks like the connection goes beyond psychic when its human life support system gets injured… Let me see your head."

Sam stood up and Dean leaned forward as much as he was able. Sam prodded and poked at the area that had been beaten and bruised not long ago and found nothing wrong. No swelling. No tenderness. Nothing. Dean didn't even complain when he poked too hard.

"Nothing," he said, titling his head back as Sam sat down again.

Sam sighed, still perplexed. Then a thought occurred to him. "You've still gotta stop hunting."

"Yeah I know, Sam," Dean said, a little angrily.

He held up his hands, as if trying to calm his brother down. "Ok, just thought I'd say… in case you got any ideas."

"No," Dean sighed. "… I know I can't carry on hunting, not like this. I'm going to end up getting someone hurt… or worse."

"Don't worry, Dean. There're other Hunters. I'm sure we won't be missed for a couple of months."

Dean shook his head. "That's not what I was thinking about, Sammy."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Sam, the condition I'm in, I could get people hurt, I could get you hurt… I could even get you killed!"

"Dean, you need to start worrying more about yourself."

"How?" Dean could feel a lump in his throat and a prickling behind his eyes. "You're my little brother, man! I practically raised you. You've always been my responsibility and I can't just turn that off." Dean's voice cracked. "How could I live with myself if you got hurt, or worse, because I can't protect you?" Tears started falling, sliding down his cheeks; he covered his face so Sam wouldn't see.

"Hey," Sam said, "look at me." When Dean didn't move, he took his older brothers hands away from his face and shook him by the shoulders. "I said look at me." It took a few moments, but Dean did as he was told. His eyes were puffy and red. "You've been watching out for me, taking care of me, my whole life. Now it's my turn to take care of you."

Dean sniffed. "But, dad always said-"

"Screw what dad said. I'm twenty-two years old; I can take care of myself." Dean sniffed again. "You know what dad would say if he were here right now? He'd tell me to take care of you… and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Dean sniffed and shed a few fresh tears. "Ok," he whispered, rubbing his face.

"Ok?"

Dean sniffed again. "Yeah."

"Good," Sam said, smiling softly. He stood up and began clearing the unused medical supplies away. "Right, all we've gotta do now, is find some place to hole up for the next three months."

Dean frowned. "Can't we just stay here?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You really wanna be stuck inside 24/7… with this wallpaper?"

"No, but what's wrong with me going outside?"

"How're you going to explain your slowly expanding stomach to the other guests?"

Dean thought for a moment then shrugged. "I could say I've got a beer gut."

Sam raised his eyebrows again, but this time in surprise that his brother was basically calling himself fat. Weren't women supposed to get overly sensitive about stuff like that?

Sam shook his head. "No, you can't pass your bump off as a beer gut, especially with the way you're walking now."

Dean sighed. "Fine, where do you think we should go?"

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it and thank you to everyone who reads and reviews and lets me know how I've done =)<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Here we go, the second chapter in my double update!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>It took a few days for Sam to find a place he deemed suitable for his brother, which put a strain on their relationship, not to mention Dean's back. Sleeping in the Impala was turning out to be a nightmare. Neither of them got much sleep; Dean because his back hurt, his legs cramped and the Stolax kept deciding to stab him just as he was dosing off; Sam wasn't much better off because Dean felt that if he couldn't sleep, no-one would.<p>

On the 4th morning of sleeping this way, they were passing through a small town when Sam stopped at a gas station to fill up the car and his brother. As he went to pay for the fuel and Dean's various snacks (thankfully, he hadn't craved raw meat since the last time), Sam saw an ad on the noticeboard: 'Cabin for rent. Ask manager for details'.

"Hey, is that cabin still available?" he asked the cashier, as he dumped the basket on the counter.

The young woman blushed when she looked up at him. "Um, I'll- I'll just… go and check." She smiled shyly and scurried around the counter and through a door into the back of the station. Sam only had to wait a few moments, before a squat, elderly gentleman appeared, the young cashier walking silently behind him.

He was fairly portly and only just came up to Sam's shoulder. His hair, once brown, was now mostly grey and thinning on top, although he tried to disguise this fact by combing the hair that remained over his balding skull in a way that was painfully obvious. He had small, watery green eyes, a squashy looking nose and a big, bushy moustache that was also grey.

He waddled up to Sam and took his hand and smiled. "I'm Mr. Percy Ringle, manager of this fine establishment," he told Sam in a cheery voice as he wrung his hand. "Sally here," he gestured to the cashier, who blushed again, "tells me you're interested in my little cabin."

"Yes sir," Sam replied.

"I knew someone would be interested," Mr. Ringle said, letting go of Sam's hand and barking out a laugh. "My wife said it was a waste of money, even for a fixer-upper, but I knew my property fishing line would get a nibble eventually, and here you are!"

"Uh… here I am," Sam said uncertainly.

Ringle laughed again. "I like you, my boy." He smiled warmly. "Now, how long will you be wanting to rent it for? A weekend away maybe? There's a nice little fire place, perfect for cuddling up in front of on cold nights." He winked and nudged him in the ribs. Sally looked down dejectedly.

"Er… no," Sam said. The cashier seemed to perk up. "You see, me and my brother have decided to take a little break from everything and go on a hunting trip." He chuckled internally at the irony of his statement.

Ringle nodded. "Ok, sounds like fun. A bit early to be hunting though, mind you. All you you're likely to find in the forest this time of year are a couple of pheasants, and that's if you're lucky."

"I'm sure we'll find something," Sam smiled.

"How long will you be staying?"

"The next three months or so… as long as there's no problem with that?"

The manager's eyes seemed to bulge out of his fat head when he heard that. "That is completely fine by me, my boy! Superb! Will that be cash or card?"

"Cash." Sam fished his wallet out of his pocket. "How much?"

"Seven-hundred and fifty dollars, if you want to pay for the three months up front."

"Ah," Sam muttered, his heart sinking. "I've only got enough for one month." _I'll have to find somewhere else for the last two months,_ he thought, _unless I can find a bar with a couple of rubes to hustle._ "Will that-?"

"Wait! We've got a job going?" Sally seemed to have found her voice. She scurried out to stand next to Mr. Ringle. "Don't we sir? Since Robbie got bitten by his neighbours snake, we've been short staffed."

"You know, Sally, you're absolutely right." Ringle turned to Sam. "I'm going to make you an offer, son. You can keep your money and if you come and work for me for the three months you're here, the cabins yours."

Sam couldn't believe his luck. "Really?"

He nodded. "Nine to five, Monday to Friday, ten to four on Saturdays and… what the hell, you can have Sundays off." He smiled, as if he was the most generous man on Earth.

Sam had no idea how to work a normal job, but with money being tight and time being even tighter, he couldn't afford to let an opportunity like this pass. "Where do I sign?"

"That's what I like to hear," Ringle boomed, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Let's see, tomorrow's Sunday, so you can start on Monday. If you could get here for around eight o'clock, we can get you debriefed on procedures, polices and your duties and whatnot. Oh and here's your cabin key." He pulled a large keychain out of his pocket and slipped a small brass key away from the rest and placed it in Sam's hand.

"Thanks," Sam said, putting it in his own pocket.

"Just take a right out of the gas station and there's a dirt track on your left just up the road a little way. The cabins about half a mile up, you can't miss it." He gave a smile that scrunched up his face, reducing his eyes to pudgy slits.

"I really appreciate it, Mr. Ringle," Sam said, gushing a little.

"My pleasure, Mr…?"

"Oh," Sam said, "Dawkins. Gary Dawkins."

"I look forward to working with you." With that, Mr. Ringle turned and waddled back to his office, a spring in his fat stride at having secured a free worker for the next three months.

Sam turned back to his items on the counter, a large smile on his face, and saw Sally grinning shyly at him. "Thank you, Sally. A place to stay is really what we need right now. Thanks."

She giggled nervously. "It's ok." She scanned his items through. "And staff get a twenty percent discount too."

"Great," Sam said, handing over the cash.

Sally frowned. "You won't have much time for hunting if you're working all the time." She sounded apologetic.

Sam smiled. "My brother was always more into hunting than I was. I'm sure he'll have fun without me."

She smiled. "See you on Monday."

"See you then," he replied, and left the shop.

"Jeez, what took you so long?" Dean complained as his brother got back in the car. "This thing has been using my bladder as a trampoline!" He was lying down to try and stop the ache in his back.

"Well, I've just sorted out our accommodation problem," Sam told him cheerfully. He started the engine and pulled out of the gas station, turning right as Ringle had instructed.

The dirt track was a few minutes down the road and Sam winced when he saw it. It looked extremely tight and even more over grown than the path that had led to Scott's house.

"Sam," Dean said warningly, sitting up in the back seat, "how far ahead is this place?"

"Um… half a mile or so."

"Crap," Dean muttered. "I swear to God, Sam, if you scratch her, I'm gonna swing for you."

"Do you wanna just hit me now then?"

"Don't test me, Sam!" he snapped. Dean looked again at the brambles and protruding branches and groaned. "Just… be careful, ok?"

Sam sighed. "Ok." He took a deep breath and started forward as slowly as he could.

Dean groaned again. "I can't look." He closed his eyes and placed his head back down on his jacket, which he'd been using as a makeshift pillow.

Sam drove the Impala along the track at a snail's pace, trying his best to prevent Dean's baby from getting scratched. His anxiety levels were rising with every passing second and his nerves were not helped due to Dean hissing threats under his breath whenever long twigs scraped along the windows or paintwork.

Finally, after a tense five or ten minute drive, although Dean would later swear it was longer, they reached their new home for the next three months. Sam pulled up in front of the cabin and shut off the engine. Dean opened his eyes and sat up clumsily. They both started at the small building, mouths hanging open. Dean let out a low whistle.

"Wow," Sam muttered. "That guy wasn't kidding when he said this place was a fixer-upper."

"Looks like it could still use a little more fixing, if you ask me."

Sam scoffed. "You said it."

"Man, we are gonna be like sardines!"

The "cabin" that Sam had procured for them turned out to be little more than just a shack. The wooden panels seem to be only just holding the tattered roof aloft, with its missing tiles and rusted chimney pipe.

The younger of the two brothers sighed. "Maybe it won't be so bad on the inside." He didn't even bother hiding the doubt in his voice.

They got out of the car, Dean with a little difficulty, and made their way to the front porch… or what was left of it. Sam unlocked the front door, which was sturdier than he thought it was going to be, and swung it open.

_Thank God for small mercies_, he thought.

The interior was a little less disappointing than the exterior, but was still of a poor standard. There seemed to be three separate rooms; a small living space that incorporated the living, dining and kitchen areas; an even smaller bedroom with one bed, which was at least a double; and a bathroom that was only just big enough for Dean to move around in, and the whole place had that musty, unlived in smell.

"Well," Sam said, "it could be worse, I guess."

"Yeah, but it could also be better, Sam," Dean complained. "How much did you pay for this piece of crap anyway?"

"I didn't," Sam replied. He moved to the 'kitchen' and started checking the appliances. Thankfully, they worked. "I made a deal with the manager of the gas station. I work there and he lets us stay here for free. Would've been seven fifty for the three months otherwise."

"Seven fifty? For this dump?" Dean's tone was incredulous. "What a rip!" He looked at the sofa and gingerly lowered himself down onto it. It groaned under his weight but didn't give way.

"Look, it could be worse. This way, we can keep out money, we have a place to stay and I get a staff discount at the gas station so we can get our food there. Plus, it's only about a ten minute walk away."

"Which is a good thing," Dean said quickly, "because there is no way you're driving my car down that track again, until absolutely necessary."

Sam smiled. "Ok, I'll walk to work." He suddenly frowned.

"What?"

"I've got a job… a job, like a regular guy."

Dean laughed. "There's nothing 'regular' about you Sam. Or me, for that matter."

Sam laughed as well. "I've got a co-worker and a boss… I've got a job." He was a little weirded out by the whole thing after thinking about it.

"What's head honcho's name?" Dean asked in an attempt to bring his brother back to the present.

"Huh? Oh, Ringle. Percy Ringle."

Dean smirked. "Seriously?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah, why?"

"Percy Ringle? His name is P. Ringle."

"So?"

Dean snorted a laugh. "Dude, he's a 'Pringle'!"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's corny joke, but couldn't help laughing a little himself. "It did look like he'd eaten a tube or two in his time."

Dean was laughing in earnest now. "You're… you're working for… a potato chip!" He was getting hysterical.

"Dude, it wasn't that funny," Sam said, chuckling at his brother's mirth.

It took a while for Dean to calm down, but then when Sam came in from the car carrying the snacks he'd bought earlier, he cracked up again when he saw the family size bag of potato chips. Sam stared as his brother dissolved once again into fits of laughter, until tears ran down his face.

Luckily, by the time everything was away, Dean had calmed down. "You ok now?" Sam asked, taking a seat at the small, round dining table.

"Yeah, I'm good" Dean replied. He hissed and put a hand on his side. "I might have given myself a stitch though."

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Anyway, it's getting late. We should turn in soon."

"Ok, I'll crash here," Dean said lying back on the couch, which groaned a little more.

Sam frowned. "You do know there's a double bed in there." He jerked his thumb toward the bedroom door. "That's where you're sleeping. And don't start arguing like last time."

"A double? No arguments from me." He sat up.

"… Really?" Sam had expected more of an argument with him, like when they were at Scott's.

Dean all of a sudden seemed tired and resigned. "Really." He sighed. "My back is freakin' killing me! I love my baby," he gestured out the window, "but man, does she give me one helluva kink in my back!" He paused thoughtfully. "And not the good kind either."

Sam pulled a face. "Dean, that… that is wrong on so many levels."

Dean smirked. "You just don't understand me and my baby."

Sam opened his mouth for a retort concerning his brother's sometimes unhealthy obsession with his car, but decided against it. "Just… go to bed."

Dean chuckled at Sam's embarrassment. _Well,_ Dean thought,_ being the older brother comes with the I-am-allowed-to-embarrass-my-little-brother-in-any-way-I-see-fit perk, so why not use it?_ "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Samantha, I'm going."

"Good… we both need a decent night's sleep."

"Amen to that." Dean scooted to the end of the small sofa and managed to struggle to his feet.

As much as Sam wanted to help, he knew Dean was too proud to let him, so he stood back. When Dean was clear, Sam plopped down on the sofa and shut his eyes when a grunt from the bedroom snapped them open.

"Dean?" He stood up and rushed to the bedroom, which was about two strides for him. "What's wrong?"

Dean was staring at the bed sheets, a disgusted sneer on his face. "Dude, seriously?"

Sam frowned, glad he was ok, but confused as to what the problem was. "What?"

Dean lifted up a corner of the duvet. "Look at it!"

All Sam could see at first was the garish pattern, but upon closer inspection, he saw that there were spots of mildew peppering the fabric. He scrunched up his own nose in disgust. "Ew."

"Yeah," Dean said, dropping the covers, "ew."

"Well, we've had worse."

"Yeah, but for three months?"

Sam sighed. "I think I saw a Laundromat in town. I'll get them cleaned tomorrow."

Dean huffed. "Good. We… I mean, _I'm_ not spending three months with these sheets."

"… Who's 'we'?"

"This little, parasitic son-of-a-bitch inside me; it's including itself again!" Dean yelled angrily. For all the good it did him to vent his anger and frustration, Dean regretted his outburst; the Stolax stabbed him for the insult. He grunted and put a hand on his stomach. "Little sucker's getting stronger." The Stolax seemed to wriggle as if pleased with its growing strength.

Sam wasn't sure what to say, so he settled on something that would please both his brother and the monster inside him. "I'll get the sheets cleaned tomorrow. In fact, this whole place could use a clean, and I doubt it'd take me very long." He offered a smile to Dean, who returned it.

"Thanks, Sammy." He sat down on what he deemed the least disgusting part of the bed and sighed. "A bed's a bed, I guess." He grimaced and lay down.

"I'll get you the blankets from the car," Sam said, turning and walking out of the room. He returned quickly and handed the over the covers. "Here."

Dean took them. "Thanks," he muttered sleepily.

Sam paused at the door for a moment. He opened his mouth to offer Dean a few words of comfort, but stopped when he heard his brother snoring softly. He sighed.

"Just three more months to go."

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><p><strong>Like I've said before, humour doesn't really come naturally to me when I'm writing, so if the pringle thing was really bad I apologise lol.<strong>

**Anyway, let me know what you think and you'll be pleased to know (or not, depending on what you think of the story) that there are only a few chapters left. And I am setting myself a goal to get this thing published before the new year!**

**Again, I want to thank everyone who has been reading this story and reviewing and for being patient with my lack of updating, I really appreciate it!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Here we are. Another update within two weeks- I am on a roll! Hope you enjoy this one. There's some brotherly fluff toward the end- vunerable!Dean and protective!Sam.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Sam sat and stared at the dryer as the bed sheets went round and round. He'd gotten up early and turfed Dean out of bed to wash the mouldy sheets, along with some raggedy towels that were in the bathroom; if they were going to be staying there for the next three months, Sam was determined to make the place habitable… or as habitable as possible.<p>

"Hey, Gary," a shy voice said.

It took Sam a few moments to realise that it was Sally from the gas station. He turned and gave a small smile. "Hi."

"Doing some laundry?"

Sam bit back a sarcastic comment. "Sure am."

Sally nodded and smiled. There was a pause in which she was searching for something to say. Finally, she said, "So how do you like the cabin?"

It was Sam's turn to pause. "… It's... great."

His real thought on the place must have been written all over his face. "That bad, huh?"

Sam laughed. "You could say that. But we needed to get away from everything for a while and that cabin is so much better than sleeping in my brother's car."

"I can only imagine."

Sam looked at the dryer and saw that the cycle was nearly done. _Thank God for small mercies_, he thought; he didn't want to be stuck making small talk with Sally for much longer.

"There's a bar outside town," Sally said suddenly. "It's kinda crappy, but it's the only place within forty miles to get a half decent drink." She looked at the floor and scuffed her feet on the faded tiles. She looked like an overgrown Freshman with a crush on the Senior Quarterback. "We could go for a drink tonight… to celebrate you getting the job."

Sam smiled. "I would, but I think I'm gonna get an early night so I'm ready for tomorrow." Sally looked disappointed. "But I'll take a rain check," Sam said quickly, which seemed to her perk up.

"Ok," she smiled. "It's got a pool table too and I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good."

Sam smiled. "You'll have to beat me sometime soon then."

"It's a date," Sally said quickly, then blushed. "Or not…"

The machine clicked and Sam grabbed the sheets and stuffed them into a bag to take back. "See you tomorrow then."

"Bye," Sally said as he left the Laundromat.

_That was painful_, he thought as he made his way back to the shack of a cabin they were staying in. He came across a general store and went inside to stock up on cleaning supplies; the potato chip was less than generous with providing the cabin with things like washing up liquid and bleach and from the state of the place, it could use a good scrubbing.

Or maybe just burning to  
>the ground. Both Sam and Dean had liked that idea.<p>

With his arms full of clean sheets and an armada of cleaning supplies, Sam made for the cabin.

"What took you so long?" was the first thing Dean said to him when he walked through the door.

"The machines will only wash so fast, Dean," Sam told him, dumping the bags on the small dining table.

Dean, who was sat on the couch, gestured in front of him. "I managed to find an old T.V in the wardrobe."

Sam looked to the right of the fireplace and saw that 'old' was putting it lightly. "Does it work?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. Is it steam powered or something?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "No, but it might as well be. It's only got two channels. One is constantly peddling art supplies of some kind and the other seems to be some sort of self-esteem boosting show on repeat."

"Does it boost your self-esteem?"

"If it needed boosting, this show wouldn't help in the slightest. People probably tune in if they want to end it all."

Sam laughed and shook his head. He pulled a plastic couch cover out of a bag and moved toward the sofa. "I need you to get up so I can put this on."

Dean looked up at the plastic cover. "Did you mug an old lady on the way back?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, but this'll save me from having to clean the couch."

"Fair enough." Dean struggled to his feet so Sam could cover the sofa. "Ok, what needs doing?"

"Well, I'm gonna get this place clean, or some semblance of clean. You just sit down and relax."

"Come on, Sam," Dean grunted. "Just because I can't hunt, doesn't mean I can't do anything. And I'm not watching T.V again… never thought I'd hear myself say that."

"Ok," Sam said. He moved to the bags and pulled out some gloves, a toilet brush and a bottle of bleach. "You can clean the toilet."

Dean looked at Sam and peered into the bathroom. He hesitated. "… Um…"

Sam smiled and swapped the cleaning stuff for the bed sheets. "You can go and make the bed, seeing as it's yours for the next three months."

Relief spread across Dean's face. "That, I can do." He took the sheets, along with a mattress protector Sam had picked up and headed to the bedroom.

"There's a bar outside town, apparently," Sam said as he unpacked the bags.

"How do you know that?" came Dean's voice from the bedroom.

"I bumped into my co-worker, Sally, at the Laundromat. She invited me for a drink and a game of pool."

"Sammy's got a girlfriend," sang Dean.

"Shut up," Sam retorted. "At least I can get a bit of extra cash while we're here."

"So you can take you're lady friend out to dinner?"

Sam just rolled his eyes and ignored him. He pulled on a pair of gloves. "Ok," he said to himself. "Here's goes nothing."

He started in the kitchen and worked his way round the cabin. He scrubbed the sink and the cooker, cleared out the fridge and cleaned the windows, opening them after he'd done so; he swept out the fireplace, making a mental note to chop some wood for the fire later that night, and dusted on the mantlepiece and washed the floor. Then he moved on to the bathroom, where he was vividly reminded of the case in North Dakota; the toilet, which may have been white at some point, was so encrusted with grime that it took Sam a good half hour to clean, and the shower took him nearly an hour. It wasn't a perfect job, by any stretch of the imagination, but at least the bathroom was usable now.

All in all, it took Sam a few hours, and an insane amount of bleach and disinfectant, to get the cabin looking halfway decent and by that time he was covered in grime, dust, ash and had more than a few splinters. He opened the door to help air out the smell.

_Great, I think I need another trip to the Laundromat._

He peeled off his shirt and wiped his face. He looked around and frowned.

"Dean?" He hadn't seen his brother since he'd gone into the bedroom. "Dean?"

Sam went and peered through the door to the bedroom and saw him lying on the freshly made bed, snoring softly. He smiled and went to close the door, which creaked and woke Dean.

"Sam?" he said blearily.

"Sorry," he said. "You can go back to sleep if you want."

"No," Dean muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I'll get up and help. Sorry I dozed off."

"It's ok, I'm done now."

Dean sat up. "Really? How long have I been out?"

Sam shrugged. "A few hours."

"You should've woken me up. I would have cleaned the toilet." Dean looked guilty at having fallen asleep.

"It's ok, Dean," Sam told him. "It wasn't that bad."

"I still could've helped."

"Well you can make something for us to eat while I get a quick shower."

"Ok." Dean shuffled to the end of the bed and made his way into the kitchen while Sam went and tried to get clean. As he stood under the spray of semi lukewarm water, Sam's thoughts turned to how he could keep his vision from coming true.

_I've stopped them coming true before, I can do it again… I have to._ He hung his head and tried to rid his mind of images of Dean, scared and in pain. _If I don't stop it, I'm going to lose Dean… I can't lose my big brother._

* * *

><p>Waiting for the inevitable emergence of the Stolax spawn was as difficult as you may think and then some. As Dean's stomach expanded, his temper became shorter; his back ached almost constantly, his joints were stiff in the morning and continued to ache all day and he nearly always had heartburn.<p>

Sam wasn't having a picnic either. Even though he'd dreamed of a normal life from an early age, working in a nine til five job at a gas station with a stuck up boss and a co-worker who was constantly drooling over him, was not what he'd had in mind. He often thought it'd been a bad idea to take Sally up on her offer for a drink; she was wanting him to meet her friends and hang out with her more and more.

And although they were both glad Dean hadn't craved raw meat since the first incident, he started craving something nearly as disgusting which made Sam nauseous every time he drank it; sour milk. Sam had taken to bringing back gallons of the stuff, taking it from the dumpster behind the station; the fouler it was, the more the Stolax enjoyed it and it seemed to be getting stronger. It was moving inside Dean more and more, causing him a lot of pain, although he played it down whenever Sam asked him if he was ok.

Living like this wasn't easy for either of them, but they were coping… just.

After a couple of months of staying there, Sam arrived back at the cabin with his hands full of groceries. As he looked up, he saw smoke coming from the chimney. His frazzled brain went into protective overdrive and he immediately thought the worst- fire!

"Dean!" Sam dropped the bags on the ground and raced inside, prepared to drag his brother outside where it was safe.

But there was no fire. Well, not a dangerous one anyway. Dean was sat awkwardly on the floor, propped up by the sofa, staring into the small fireplace, where flames were crackling softly.

Sam sighed with relief and exasperation. "Dean, I told you not to do that," he said, gesturing toward the fire. "You could strain yourself. If you wanted a fire, you should've told me before I…" Sam stopped at looked at his brother. He frowned. "Dean?"

Dean was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Sammy." There was a crack in his voice that unnerved Sam. "I just… just wanted a fire… please don't be mad."

"Hey," Sam said soothingly, dropping onto the sofa on Dean's right, "its ok. I'm not mad. I just don't want you hurting yourself."

"I was just a little cold," Dean said in a small voice that was so unlike his own.

Sam frowned and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. To his surprise, Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed with such ferocity, Sam felt like a child again; he had done the same thing to Dean so many times when they were younger.

He was reminded of when he was five.

John had left them with Bobby, which wasn't strange in itself, although he did usually check in. But not this time. They waited for nearly three weeks before he finally stumbled up to the house, beaten and bruised. Bobby knew John had done this sort of thing before, even Dean was starting to realise that this was his dad's job, but all Sam knew was that his dad was gone and he didn't know when he was coming back.

He remembered asking Bobby every day when his dad was coming home and he remembered how his heart sank a little lower whenever he heard the same answer- 'Not yet'. The night before John had come back, Sam had gone into Dean and woken him up. He remembered crying and griping his arm tightly because he was just so scared. Dean had shifted in his bed to make a space that Sam could crawl into. He held his little brother tight, telling him not to worry, that everything would be ok, even though he was unsure himself.

Dean knew Sam needed him, so he did what any big brother would've done. He looked after him; comforted him until he fell asleep.

Sam shifted himself off the sofa, sat on the floor next to Dean and put his arm around his shoulders and held him tight. Dean leant into him and Sam could feel him shaking with silent sobs.

"I'm just… I'm scared, Sammy," he whispered, hand still gripping Sam's.

"I know," Sam whispered back. "I know."

"… I'm going to die aren't I?"

"No," Sam said. His voice was soft, but there was also an aggressiveness to his tone. He was not going to let him die at the hands- claws- of this monstrosity. "You're not going to die, Dean. I'm not going to let this thing kill you."

Dean choked out a sob that Sam could tell he was trying to keep back. "You promise?"

Sam was reminded once more of their childhood.

_"You promise?"_

_"'Course, Sammy. Dad'll be back any day now, just you wait and see."_

_"Really?"_

_"Really… He always comes back…"_

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was his turn to be the strong one. "I promise. You are _not_ going to die… I promise."

Dean was overcome by a wave of fresh tears, although he managed to keep his sobs silent. Sam just held him closer as his own cheeks grew wet, not caring that Dean was soaking his shirt. All he needed to do was make sure that his brother knew he was there for him.

No matter what.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it and, as always, R&amp;R and let me know what you think. I hope I did Sam and Dean justice during their moment- I like to keep things as believeable as possible.<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Well, my goal of getting this story uploaded by the end of last year didn't happen lol but with illness, hospital stays and a ton of stress it was pretty much impossible, buuuuuut *pauses for dramatic effect* I have finished typing this story up!**

**Finally!**

**It has been a long time coming, but it is done! So theres gonna be a double update- this chapter is quite long and theres a little epilogue to come as well.**

**Like I say in every chapter, thank you for being so patient with me- I know I suck at updating but it's all done now lol.**

**I just want to say that there is a bit of gore in this chapter so you have been warned.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>The next couple of weeks went by and Dean became more and more subdued. This change was alarming to Sam; Dean had always been the strong one, the one to look after <em>him<em>… to see him so meek and mild scared him. It was as if Dean had already given up.

But Sam wasn't going to. It was his turn to be strong. His turn to look out for his big brother…

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><p>Sam woke with a start as the shrill sound of his phone rang throughout what seemed the entire cabin. He grabbed and answered it before the noise could penetrate the paper thin walls and wake Dean. He barely registered that the time was 7.20am.<p>

"Hello?" he answered sleepily.

"Gary!" Mr. Ringle's voice seemed to boom all around the cabin, causing Sam to jump up and move the phone a good few feet away from his ear.

"Hi, Mr. Ringle," Sam said. He was considerably more awake now. "What can I do for you?"

"Well Gary," Pringle started, in what he obviously assumed was an apologetic tone, although it came across as quite the opposite. "I'm afraid I'm going to need you to come in today. I've just been swamped with a ton of stock and there are just far too many boxes for one fellow to move."

Sam had to suppress an exasperated sigh. "Sure. When do you want me to come in?"

"Excellent!" Sam could practically hear the man's moustache rise with his smug grin. "I want you here as soon as possible, my boy. The clocks-a tickin'!" He hung up.

Sam slumped back onto the sofa and groaned. He didn't want to go in, but if they wanted to keep this place until Dean was rid of the Stolax, he had to do whatever tasks Ringle sent his way.

He stood up and went to check on Dean, who was fast asleep. Sam tried to dress as quietly as possible, which wasn't easy, considering how much the floor creaked under his feet. Just as he was lacing up his boots, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Sam?" Dean was awake.

He looked round. "Hey. Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," Dean yawned. "Where are you going?"

"I've gotta go to the shop. The potato chip wants me to help him move some boxes."

Dean frowned. "Today's Sunday. Aren't you supposed to have today off?"

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd completely lost track of what day it was. "Huh… guess I'm doing some overtime."

Dean leaned against the door frame and frowned again. "Can't you tell him to take a hike?"

Sam huffed a small laugh. "I'd love to, Dean, but if we want this roof to stay over our heads, I need to go."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, grimacing slightly. "But… today's your day off."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Sam trailed off. His brow furrowed as he watched Dean. "Are you ok?"

Dean walked into the living area and leaned on the sofa. "I don't know. I feel…"

"... Sick?"

Dean shook his head. "No, just… really weird." He looked at Sam, a pleading look on his face. "Don't go, Sam."

Sam sighed. "If we want to keep this place, I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Please, Sam… I don't want to be on my own."

"And I don't want to go, Dean," Sam assured him softly. "I won't be long."

"I just… feel wrong."

Sam frowned. "Wrong, how?"

"I don't know. I just… feel…" Dean began breathing heavily. He clamped his eyes shut and placed a hand on his head.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean started to wince and groan, but before Sam was able to move and help him, he stopped. He straightened up and opened his eyes. He stared ahead of him, his face void of emotion.

Sam was hesitant. "… Dean?" The older Winchester said nothing and started moving toward the door, but Sam blocked his way. "Where are you going?"

Dean looked at Sam. "Move." His voice was not his own; it was deep and guttural.

"Dean?"

"Move out of my way."

Something in Sam's mind clicked. "It's the Stolax, Dean! It's controlling you!" Dean cocked his head to one side. "Come on, it's time. We need to get rid of this thing once and for all." Sam turned to the door, but was stopped before he could reach it.

Dean had grabbed his shoulder and whirled him round. He took hold of Sam's jacket and shook him, bringing them face to face. "You are not going to hurt my baby," he said, his face twisting with rage.

Sam put his hands over his brothers. "Dean, the Stolax is controlling you. I need you to fight it!" Dean's grip tightened and Sam coughed. "We need to do Scott's ritual!" That had been the wrong thing to say.

It happened too fast for Sam to react. Dean's eyes flashed lime green and his face contorted; anger so primal filled his features and he let loose a fierce growl. With an inhuman strength, Dean hurled Sam into the front door, which buckled under such force and split in to several splintered pieces. Sam fell hard and grunted as he felt his shoulder jar on the hard ground outside.

"Dean, wait-!"

But his brother was beyond listening. Dean walked outside and leant over Sam, his fist raised, ready come down hard on Sam. But he stopped as his eyes shone green again. He straightened up, looked down and put a hand on his round belly. He paused for a moment while he stroked his stomach, as if he was listening to the beast within him, then turned and headed for the back of the cabin to walk deeper into the woods.

Sam groaned. "Dean!" he yelled. He scrambled to his feet and raced for the Impala. He wrenched the trunk open and reached for the incantation Scott had given him. He'd read it so many times that he knew it by heart, but he didn't want to take any chances. Just as he touched the worn piece of paper, pain erupted within his skull.

"No," he groaned, one hand on the incantation, the other on his head, "not now." But he had no control over when he had his visions.

This one, like the last ones, was about Dean. Sam could see him lying on the ground of a small clearing, the same terrified expression, riddled with pain, etched into his features. He could see him clutching his stomach with both hands, writhing in pain.

_"Please… Sammy, please! Make it… make it stop… please… it hurts so much… make it stop!"_

Then the scene changed and Sam saw snippets of the woods, a collage of images creating a mental map, leading him to where his brother was headed.

The images faded, along with the worst of the pain and Sam was once again stood near the car, the passage of long forgotten words in his hand.

He stared at it. "This had better work."

He stuffed the piece of paper into his back pocket then grabbed one of the many bottles of lighter fluid they had, a zippo and one of the switchblades they kept on hand. He straightened up and slammed the trunk shut. Sam vaguely thought that Dean would kill him if had damaged his precious car. He pocketed the knife and set off in the same direction Dean had headed, the images from his mental map still fresh in his mind.

Sam was surprised at how much ground Dean had managed to cover in such a short space of time. Lately, he'd been unable to waddle to the bathroom in under sixty seconds.

After a tense few minutes, Sam caught sight of Dean, standing in a small clearing; the one from his vision. He had his back to Sam, so the younger Winchester circled around to get a closer look at his older brother.

"Dean?" Sam was wary- he didn't want to get thrown against a tree and risk being knocked unconscious.

Dean had his head bowed slightly and both hands clutching his large stomach with his eyes shut. For a few moments, nothing happened. Dean just stood there, still as a statue. Then he twitched and hissed in pain.

"Dean?"

But he wasn't listening. Dean yelled in pain and his knees buckled. He fell to the ground and leaned forward, one hand on his stomach and the other on the floor to steady himself. Sam rushed to his side, dumping the lighter and fluid on the ground.

Dean's eyes snapped open and glared him before flashing green once again. His expression changed as fear and pain flooded his features. He gasped in pain as another contraction ripped through his body. "S-Sammy?"

"I'm here; it's going to be ok." Sam helped his brother onto his back. He took off his jacket and folded it so Dean could rest his head on something other than the cold ground.

Dean was clutching his stomach with one hand and grabbed Sam's hand with another and squeezed. He was panting heavily and sweat beaded his face. His eyes were screwed up, his mouth a twisted grimace. He was writhing and twisting, whimpering as pain flooded through him.

Sam felt helpless. It wasn't yet time to perform the ritual, but there was nothing he could do to alleviate his brother's suffering.

Dean grunted as another contraction hit and yelled as the pain surged through his body. They were coming thick and fast. "Oh God, it's coming! Sam, get it outta me!"

"I've got it," Sam said, stuffing his free hand into his back pocket for the incantation. But it wasn't there. Sam felt his heart stop. He reached into his other pocket, but it wasn't there either. "No, no, no!" He turned around to see if it was with the zippo and the lighter fluid, but it was nowhere to be found. "Oh God…"

Dean, recovering from his contraction, looked up. "What? What is it?" Sam opened his mouth to tell him when he yelled and grabbed his stomach with both hands.

It was time.

It had to be.

"Ok," Sam murmured. "Dean, you've gotta trust me." He reached into his pocket for the knife and flipped out the blade. "I need you to move your arms to your side and keep them there."

Dean nodded and did as Sam had instructed, trying to keep as still as possible. Sam grabbed the neck of Dean's t-shirt, sliced into the fabric and ripped it open. He hadn't seen his brother's stomach since the day their dad had called, telling them to go and see Scott.

Dean's belly was round and huge, and it seemed to be quivering as the Stolax inside prepared to emerge. Here and there, Sam could see patches of fresh and faded bruises where the beast had been writhing and twisting inside of him. He knew that the Stolax had been moving around, but he didn't realise just how much Dean had played down the extent of the damage.

_All this time,_ thought Sam, _he was going through this and he didn't tell me… I didn't know… why didn't he tell me?_

Another contraction hit him, the biggest one yet, and Dean screamed in pain. He threw his head back and yelled so hard that Sam could see the veins in his neck bulge.

He started whimpering. "Please… Sammy, please! Make it… make it stop…" His voice terrified Sam. These were the exact words he'd said in his dream. "Please… it hurts so much… make it stop!"

In a split second, Sam imagined his worst fear; the Stolax bursting from Dean and consuming him, while he was powerless to help.

_No, _came a little voice from somewhere deep inside. _Dean is not going to die. You are going to save him. You've prevented your visions from coming true in the past. Now is no different. Save your brother._

Sam looked at his brother and felt his fear melt away to be replaced by determination. "I've got you, Dean."

"Sam," Dean whimpered, "please… don't let your dream come true." He yelled in pain as the Stolax began clawing its way out of him; Sam could see Dean's stomach rippling with every move the monster made. He looked up, pleading stamped all over his face. "I don't wanna die."

"You're not going die," Sam said confidently. He gave his brother what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Trust me, Dean."

The older Winchester managed a small nod, before closing his eyes and shuddering in pain once again. Sam grabbed his brother's hands and moved them to the top of his stomach, so that the scar made by the adult Stolax was visible.

Sam held Dean's hands in place and prepared himself. He flashed back on what Scott had told him that night this nightmare had been confirmed…

"_It's gonna be hard, Sam, but the incantation won't be enough to release the Stolax without killing Dean."_

_Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"_

_Scott sighed. "You're gonna have to cut him open."_

"What?"

"_I know it's the last thing you'll wanna do, but it needs to be done if you want Dean to have any sort of chance of survival. You need to reopen his scar to release the Stolax."_

_Sam looked at the old hunter for a few moments, and then nodded his understanding. "Thanks, Scott."_

Sam took a deep breath and focused.

"_Dominus, protegat hoc, tuo precioso puer, Da robur, virtus. Auxilium eos per hanc poenam, Hoc tempus, hoc maxime trying at difficle hora."_

The words rolled effortlessly off his tongue, almost as if he'd written them himself. The long lost words had worked, causing Dean's scar to glow and redden and Sam was ready. He tightened his grip on the knife and placed its razor sharp edge to the skin of Dean's distended stomach.

"I'm sorry, Dean." He sliced the knife through his brother's flesh to the sound of fresh, piercing screams.

As soon as Sam had reopened the old wound, blood spattered them both and the Stolax went wild, wriggling unrelentingly in a bid to escape. Dean began to convulse as the foul creature he'd been carrying for nearly nine months, slowly squirmed from his body. Blood was pouring from Dean's stomach, dark and red. It ran down his skin, seeping into his clothes and pooling on the ground beneath him.

The first Sam saw of the creature, was the bone scythe ripping through the bloody maw that was Dean's stomach, followed by the clawed arm, groping at the outside world. Then its head appeared and it sunk its claws into Dean's stomach and scrabbled out, squealing delightedly. Dean shuddered and fell still, but Sam had no time to help. As soon as the Stolax had emerged, dripping in blood and scraps of Dean's flesh, it launched itself at Sam, who yelled in shock as he stumbled backwards.

The hideous creature was a mini duplicate of its monstrous parent. Pale green skin, a scythe in place of a right hand and two clawed fingers in place of its left. The black spines Sam had seen on the adult were mere grey nubs trailing the creatures spine, although he was sure they'd grow and darken if this thing was given the chance to survive.

The Stolax dug its claws into Sam's cheeks, gouging to deep trenches into his skin, at the same time as hooking its scythe around his neck and slicing into his neck. Sam yelled as his cheek and neck began to burn and pushed the newly born atrocity away. The Stolax landed lightly on the ground and turned to glare at Sam with piercingly bright green eyes. It started towards him, snarling viscously, but then stopped. It sniffed the air and turned round. When its eyes came to rest upon Dean, it let loose a shrill squeal and made a bee-line for him.

Dean was barely conscious, still riddled with pain; he'd only just managed to move Sam's jacket from beneath his head to be able to use it to stem the bleeding. The Stolax was moving closer, screeching with delight at the thought of devouring its first kill.

But Sam was ready.

Just as the Stolax climbed on top of Dean's legs, preparing to sink its sharp little teeth into his thigh, Sam whacked it with a discarded branch and sent it flying into the trunk of a nearby tree. It hit the tree with a dull thud, but was unfazed and back on its feet in seconds. It turned its attention back on Sam and hissed, baring its fangs. Sam squirted the beast with lighter fluid, causing it to cry out and back away. While it was wiping its eyes, Sam flipped open the zippo, ignited the flame and threw the lighter at the monster.

The flames quickly took hold and engulfed the Stolax in a ball of fire and smoke. The abomination was unable to attack anyone anymore; the fire was bubbling away its flesh, stripping muscle from bone and turning bone quickly to ash. The squealing screams issuing forth from the Stolax were music to Sam's ears. To know that the hell of the last eight and a half months was finally over and they could…

_Dean!_

Sam ran over to where his brother was lying. "Dean! Dean, talk to me!" He lifted his head gently and cradled him close. The older Winchester was still for a few agonisingly long moments… but then his eyes fluttered open and looked at Sam.

"S… Ss- Sa-"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief he didn't remember holding. "Hey, shhh. It's ok. You're ok," he said gently. He glanced down and his blood soaked jacket. "Let me see…" He lifted the jacket away from Dean's stomach to assess the damage. The Stolax was dead, but they weren't out of the woods yet- both literally and figuratively.

The bloody maw that had been Dean's stomach was not as bad as Sam had feared it would be. In fact, there didn't seem to be much bleeding at all.

Sam looked at his brother and smiled. "Looks like you're going to make a full recovery."

Dean managed to choke a weak laugh. "You sound… a lot ha-happier… this time a… around."

Sam laughed, thinking back on the original Stolax attack which seemed like years ago. "Yeah, I guess I do." He realised that his cheeks were wet. He was crying.

Dean gave a small crooked smile and placed a blood stained hand on the one that was draped around his shoulders. He squeezed Sam's hand, which was re-assuring, even if it was only weak. As Sam squeezed back, Dean's eyes began to roll. But before they closed completely, Sam saw them flash a vivid green.

Sam wondered what it meant, but shook the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to get Dean back to the cabin.

He stood and crouched closer to his brother, gently placing his arms under Dean's neck and the back of his legs. He stiffened his muscles and rose, lifting Dean off the ground. Sam adjusted himself before setting off, grunting slightly due to the dead weight in his arms.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sam started back the way they came, making his way back to the cabin, leaving the still smouldering remains of the Stolax behind them.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading guys, I cant tell you how much I appreciate it!<strong>

**The incantation Sam uses translates as follows (as always, using Google Translate lol):**

**Lord, protect this, your precious child,  
>Give them the strength, the power.<br>Help them through this ordeal,  
>This time, most trying and difficult hour.<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Here we go, the final installment of this story. I hope you like it.**

**Fluffy brotherly love ahead!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>"Ok, so tell me again how it worked. I'm still a little fuzzy on the details."<p>

It had been three days since the Stolax had emerged (not born- Dean _wasn't_ pregnant remember?) and been torched by Sam and you would never think, to look at him, Dean had gone through hell.

"Once I got you back to the cabin," Sam said, for what he felt was the thousandth time, "which was easy by the way, because you weigh-"

"-Just tell me," Dean interrupted, his tone a little exasperated.

Sam smiled. "After I'd patched you up, I called Scott and he said that the flash must've been residual energy from the psychic connection. I mean, there's no way you would've healed in three days. Not with the size of wound you had." He absentmindedly scratched at the gouges left in his right cheek and rubbed the healing slash on his neck from his brief encounter with the Stolax.

"Hm… well at least that little son-of-a-bitch did something for me." He grinned. "Look at me Sammy! Behind the wheel, driving my baby like the way it ought to be. I can drink coffee again. And beer! Oh _God_, did I miss beer!"

Sam laughed, glad that his brother was back to normal. They sat in silence for a while, well as silent as possible with AC-DC blaring from the stereo.

After about fifteen minutes, Dean turned the music down and cleared his throat. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

There was a small pause. "Thanks… for everything."

Sam smiled. "No problem."

"I mean it, man." He glanced at his younger brother and held his gaze briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "I know it was hard on you too. Those nightmares? All that emotional baggage you had to carry? You must've got less sleep than me at times."

Sam was quiet for a few moments. "I couldn't let my vision come true. I didn't- I don't- want to lose you."

Dean smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. Thanks to you." He frowned. "How did you manage it?"

"What?"

"My memory's hazy, at best, but I remember you hesitating… what happened?"

"I froze," Sam said truthfully. "For a split second I imagined what would happen if my dream came true and… I froze." The memory of Dean, lying in the clearing with blood flowing from his body, made him scowl slightly. "But then there was something inside me, telling me I could do it and it kinda calmed me down."

"Well, I'm glad you got your crap together, otherwise I'd be Stolax chow by now." He huffed a laugh and shook his head.

"What's funny?"

"I just wish I could remember the little sucker burning," Dean said. Sam laughed. "I'm serious. That little bastard put me through nearly nine months of hell. I wanted to watch it burn!"

"I guess I should've taken a picture for you."

"Yeah, you should've. But you did save my bacon, so I guess its ok."

"I'm glad you think so," snorted Sam.

"Being serious though, Sam, if you hadn't have had my back, I'd be a goner."

Sam gave a humble shrug. "Just keeping my promise- keeping you safe." He frowned slightly. "Wonder what dad would've said if he found out I'd let you die?"

"Forget about what dad _would've _said, Sam. Dad wasn't here, for either of us, through this whole thing. Ok, he called you with the information about Scott. Once. The rest of the time? God only knows where he was. You know what that shows me?"

"What?"

"That he cares more about finding that demon than he does about his own sons."

"Dean, you know that's not true."

"Well, it sure feels like right now," Dean grunted. "But at least I've got you, Sammy. Gotta have someone to watch my back."

Sam felt a sense of pride; his big brother was relying on him to look out for him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." Dean smiled. There was a brief pause. "Need someone to do the research for me."

Sam laughed. He knew the tender moment was over. "Resident geek, reporting for duty."

"Well then, geek boy, tell me what our next job is. I need to kill something."

Sam shook his head and started riffling through the small stack of newspapers they picked up earlier that day. Before long, he found something that fit the bill. "There have been some disappearances, a couple of towns over. All late at night, all with signs of a struggle. The victims haven't been found."

"Late night disappearances it is." Dean cranked up the volume and stepped on the gas pedal.

Family means a lot, especially to a Winchester. Sam and Dean knew that they could rely on one another, no matter what happened, and with their Father still missing, they knew that they would have to rely on each other a whole lot more in the near and distant future.

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><p><strong>AN: I know this is a short one, but I think its rounds everything nicely.**

**As always, let me know what you guys think. But this time, not just about this chapter- about the whole thing. What was good, bad? What did you like, hate? I try to keep the characters as canon as possible so I'd love to know what you guys think.**

**I love you guys for reading- THANK YOU SO MUCH!**


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